


dancing with our hands tied (always has, always will be)

by EvancexLizzie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Background Relationships, Blood and Violence, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, I promise it's a happy ending, Immortal Sakusa Kiyoomi, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, MCD is tagged for Atsumu's multiple reincarnations, Mortal / Reincarnated Atsumu Miya, Pining, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, thumbs up if you've seen the movie The Old Guard, warnings with context in author's notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 06:46:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29746569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvancexLizzie/pseuds/EvancexLizzie
Summary: Definitely-not-Atsumu tilts his head to the right, cockes his right eyebrow in wonder and crosses his arms on his chest. "An’ askin' someone's name but not sayin’ yours ain't rude ? Yer the one runnin' away twice.""I'm not running away." Kiyoomi grits his teeth. It physically pains him to look at this all-too familiar face, widening the gaping hole that’s already set in his chest.  It has to be some kind of bad joke. It can’t be him. "You're bothering me. Get the fuck away from me."“Yer not very nice.”“I’m not trying to be.”Kiyoomi starts walking towards his house again. As expected, the man follows him.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 15
Kudos: 104
Collections: Haikyuu Big Bang 2020





	dancing with our hands tied (always has, always will be)

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO 
> 
> welcome to that huge piece of work !! before you start, a little precision about some tags:  
> > the tag "major character death" is only there because Atsumu dies multiple times (since he reincarnates). That's it, nothing else.  
> > the tag "self-harm" is there because Kiyoomi purposely harms himself once to see if he's still immortal. That's it, nothing else, but i know it can still be triggering for some people.  
> > the tag "historical references / historical inaccuracy" is there because, while the story is set in a realistic Japan (from 1560 to 2018) and speaks about events that really happened, i didn't introduce any real name/reference since the story isn't about politics.
> 
> the fic has been beta-ed by the great @iggysassoufic, i owe her my life basically. thank you so so so much !!
> 
> the art for this big bang collab was made by the amazing @angelfrost_art, i'll post the link towards it at the end !! 
> 
> that's it, i wish you a very happy reading !!!

**-1560 -**

On the day Atsumu dies, Kiyoomi becomes immortal.

he’ll remember that day for as long he’ll live. He’ll remember the clear sky, the dry atmosphere, the omnipresent stench. He’ll remember the bodies piled up around them, the cries of the nearest soldiers, the clear sound of steel clashing and piercing through fabric, skin and bone. 

He’ll remember Atsumu’s frail body drenched in blood. The color slowly fading away from his usual lively face, the tremors skimming through his body as Kiyoomi unconsciously tightens his grip around him.

He’ll remember his own tears blurring his vision and streaming down his cheeks, the sign of his rage and despair. He’ll remember before that, when he thought everything would be fine, when he thought they would both make it out _alive_ and _well._

 _It’s not lethal_ , he repeats to himself as he holds him tight. _Not lethal._

He kneels on the dirty ground, shoulders crunched in defeat, head bent in desolation. In his arms rests the inanimate body of Atsumu Miya. One of his hands lays under his form while the other is pressing the bloody, disgusting wound that has torn through the metal of his armor and pierced this right side of his waist.

Atsumu’s eyelids flutter, barely. He’s struggling to keep his eyes open, seemingly searching for dark curls and matching beauty marks. His unfocused gaze stumbles upon Kiyoomi’s face, flickers over his right eyebrow, trails down towards his shaky livid lips. 

Atsumu’s mouth shakily twitches upwards.

“Thanks god, yer alive…” 

But he shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t fucking be alive right now. He should be at Atsumu’s place.

The scene repeats in his mind. He remembers minutes, no seconds ago, he remembers a saber piercing through his back, he remembers the excruciating pain and the life leaving his body. He remembers Atsumu meeting his gaze from meters away, in the middle of the battlefield, he remembers the flash of panic in his eyes and the way his body had reacted immediately. 

He remembers the hint of silver, a foreign blade coming at him again from behind, aiming towards his heart this time. He remembers thinking he wishes he didn’t have to die in front of Atsumu. He remembers cursing fate for allowing Atsumu to witness this horrifying sight.

Then, a firm hand clutching his wrist and shoving him backward. 

All of a sudden, Atsumu stands in his stead, a blade through his chest. Blood, blood pouring down, Atsumu choking, Kiyoomi’s painful scream as he urges forward and beheads their enemy, before rushing to Atsumu’s lifeless body. 

“Ya seem in pretty good shape for-” Atsumu coughs, loud and aching, and a trail of blood spills weakly on his chin. His shaky voice is merely a painful whisper to Kiyoomi’s ears. 

“Atsumu, stop talking.” Kiyoomi raises his head and sweeps his gaze through the battlefield in search of someone, anyone who could help. But he’s only confronted with desolation and cries, humans battling each other and falling one after the other.

“...For someone who’s bee’ stabbed, huh…”

Kiyoomi doesn’t see it, helplessly gazing through the crowd again and again, but he senses it. His chin bends down as his eyes slide down to his own waist, where the hole left by the katana that pierced him is visible. Atsumu’s unkempt, shaky hand is pressing against it, the cold metal of his gauntlet pressing against the crimson-tainted skin. The blood has already started to dry. 

Atsumu weakly pats his skin, searching for any torn flesh or hole caused by the blade minutes ago. He finds none. The skin is perfectly clean, smooth to the touch through the ragged clothes, unlike Atsumu’s one that keeps gushing blood and tainting Kiyoomi’s hand with a scent he’ll remember for all the years to come.

Kiyoomi doesn’t get it. Considering how deep the laceration felt, he shouldn't be able to kneel and hold Atsumu in his arms with so much ease right now, but he does. He does, and he doesn’t have time to dwell on that or examine his own body or wonder if it might only have been his imagination because Atsumu coughs a new fistful of blood that splatters directly onto Kiyoomi’s clothes.

“Don’ worry, _omi-omi_ …” Atsumu grins to the best of his capabilities, his eyes heavy and gazing up adoringly at Kiyoomi. The hand that was resting on his waist reaches for his sleeve, then for the hand that keeps squeezing the flooding wound desperately. “I ain’t leavin’ ya…. Always be with ya….”

“No-no, no, don’t leave me!” Kiyoomi trembles, shakes Atsumu’s body helplessly as Atsumu eyelids flutter one last time. “Keep your eyes open! I’ll heal you! I’m gonna heal you, just, just don’t- hold on, please-”

He keeps applying pressure onto the lesion, his mind races, he thinks of each and every possibility, he wonders how he could reproduce the miracle that happened to him. His mind races and races until he watches Atsumu’s eyelids coming to a stop. All of a sudden, life has vanished from those bright, colorful brown pupils. 

He isn’t breathing anymore.

“Atsumu- Atsumu, no, no, no, please!” Kiyoomi’s broken plea turns into incoherent screams. The hand that was covering his drops lifelessly to the ground. Kiyoomi’s body shivers with the sudden absence of his touch.

Or maybe it’s the realization that Atsumu just died in his arms, while he gets to live for no plausible reason.

He’ll remember that day for as long as he gets to live. Will imprint in his mind the raw feeling of helplessness and incomprehension, the deep-seated sense of injustice and the rage that goes along. 

For the next hundred years, Kiyoomi will keep wishing he could have also died that day, alongside him.

####

Kiyoomi doesn’t remember how much time he spent kneeling on the filthy background. He doesn’t remember anything from the hours that followed. 

When he comes out of the battlefield, he’s drenched in blood.

He doesn’t know if they won and frankly, he doesn’t care. Kiyoomi doesn’t come back with the remaining soldiers, doesn’t come back to his village, doesn’t come back to his home.

His home just died on the battlefield and tore a gaping, everlasting hole through his chest.

Kiyoomi spends the first few days doing nothing, not even trying to survive. He sits in a dirty corner of the nearest city he’s found and stays there, hidden and weeping. He doesn’t eat, doesn’t drink, doesn’t sleep.

He still doesn’t die. Every fiber of his body aches, every muscle screams, his stomach howls and his head spins; and he feels himself lumber over the edge of oblivion several times. But he keeps being brought back to plain consciousness, and the pain never leaves.

At one point, Kiyoomi absentmindedly pats his left flank again, where there should be a wound but isn’t. He traces imaginary circles on the skin, reminiscences of a time where Atsumu would softly brush his skin on the back, his head resting against his shoulders, his eyes closed and his mouth humming.

A thought comes to his mind, the first coherent one in a while it seems. Slowly, he takes off his blood-soaked gauntlet, revealing his freezing, immaculate bare hand. He collects his katana from the ground and pulls the blade out of the scabbard, silver barely visible under the crimson liquid that has dried over the last day. 

A second katana is resting against the wall on his left. His only memory from Atsumu.

He sets the cutting edge of his blade against the palm of his hand and squeezes until it starts bleeding, before raising it a little. A few seconds later, the blood stops dripping and the cut closes on its own, under Kiyoomi’s widening gaze. 

So, it wasn’t a dream. 

He positions the blade against his upper arm and cuts himself a few times, deep enough to hurt and draw blood. Like the first wound, the flesh just reforms itself in the spawn of mere seconds. 

Kiyoomi is entranced by the sight. Maybe he's been cursed, maybe this is sorcery, maybe he's gained inhumane powers. His mind gets back to work, slowly trying to process everything that happened on the battlefield that day, trying to remember if that kind of event had already occured before.

It leads him to Atsumu, to their sword training and to the last time he slightly wounded him, weeks before the beginning of the conflict. They had to properly bandage the wound and the cut clearly hadn’t disappeared on its own.

 _"Gnh, I'm sorry omi-omi!"_ The voice sounds strangely distant but the face is committed to his memory. Brown anxious iris, puckered eyebrows, rosy lips twisted in a troubled pout.

_“Idiot, what are you apologizing for? At least it shows you're taking those training seriously."_

_"But I don't want to hurt you!"_

_"...Make it up to me then."_

It brought light to Atsumu’s dejected expression and Kiyoomi remembers thinking that worry definitely didn’t suit him. He was made to irradiate with confidence and lightheartedness, had to carry that insufferable yet beaming grin around and show how the somber world they were living in could never plague the immovable certitude that they’d be _alright._

Atsumu had kissed him silly to prove it. An adoring brush of lips against the bandage, a set of light-feathered touches over the curve of his shoulder trailing up to his jawline, a slow languish kiss where he’d poured all his devotion and adoration bare to Kiyoomi to absorb, rendering him short-breathed and helplessly in love.

Kiyoomi blinks. He casts his gaze on the blade resting against his skin.

He should have died back then, nicely tangled in Atsumu’s arms. There’s nothing for him in this world if Atsumu isn’t there with him, to shed a light on those sinister days and make it silly and enjoyable. 

Kiyoomi knows he’s twisting reality.

It’s utterly wrong, to reminisce of Atsumu as someone who was always joyful and unaffected by what was happening. 

He often looked displeased or simply unamused, commented Kiyoomi’s perpetual frown but tended to quickly adopt the same doubtful expression, didn’t like many things and hated most people. He complained a lot, for silly stuff or stuff he could only blame himself for, and Kiyoomi’s prevailing reaction was to roll his eyes and stop listening to him until he changed subjects on his own, his current preoccupations already tossed in a corner.

But even in those moments, Atsumu still shone bright and Kiyoomi still deeply, stubbornly loved him.

He squeezes the blade against his skin again, secretly wishing for the miracle to stop at once. 

Kiyoomi closes his eyes again. He hears him from a distance, calling his stupid nickname with a placatingly smile. 

But the blade never makes it to the skin. A strong hand grips Kiyoomi’s wrist and blocks the movement.

"Hey hey! What do you think you're doing ?" Kiyoomi blinks several times, his eyes set on the floor, before he lifts his head towards the tall man looming over him. "It's not because you become immortal that it stops hurting, man. You shouldn’t do that!"

An owl. That's Kiyoomi's first thought as he looks at the stranger, his big glooming eyes peering at him and the weird black and white hair standing straight on his head. 

"So nice we finally managed to find him, Bokuto-san!” 

Kiyoomi startles. He didn't realize there was another person on the owl-like person’s right, far smaller, a mop of reddish hair visible, wide perking eyes and a sunshine face.

"Yeah he didn't make it easy for us but we succeeded!" The man visibly called Bokuto answers, a proud smile on his face. “Nice job, Chibi-chan!”

_Chibi…-chan?_

Kiyoomi scowls, his gaze swapping between the two men. He feels cornered all of a sudden, and tries to get up so he can at least face them.

Half-way up there, his vision blurs. He extends his hand to grip whatever comes first, feeling his body stumbling, his head spinning, all sounding and looking dizzy and distant. 

“Hey! Hey! Are you okay?”

He opens his mushy mouth, no sound comes out. His eyelids are heavy and his body weighs too much for him alone to carry. He looks at the two men, unable to distinguish their expressions anymore, and he feels his feet vanish from under him, along with the clinging sound of his katana falling on the floor.

Kiyoomi doesn’t fight to keep his eyes open. His mouth curves slightly upwards and he embraces the feeling of falling into an endless pit. _All of this, only to die there,_ he thinks as he falls into a deep slumber.

\---

It feels nice and warm, like his body isn’t freezing to death anymore.

Kiyoomi blinks a few times, focuses his gaze on the wooden ceiling in front of him. Turns his head to the right, only to be greeted with big shiny eyes looming over him, only a few centimeters apart.

He jerks away, the movement so sudden his hand bangs against the wall behind him. He winces and starts cursing under his breath when the dizziness strikes him again, his gaze blurry and his body feeble.

“Oy, oy!” A firm grip on his shoulder helps him refocus. He runs a hand over his face, trying to gather his thoughts. “Take it easy. You don’t wanna knock yourself out again.” Kiyoomi tries to resist the squeeze on his shoulder that pushes him back towards the bed, but it’s far more robust than he expected it. Or maybe he’s just far too weak. “Shoyo went down to order some food. You need to eat a little before moving again.”

Kiyoomi glances around him warily, his senses alert. “Where are we?” He frowns hearing how unusually hoarse his voice sounds.

“Huh, an inn. The nearest one I could find.” Bokuto crosses his arms, smiling at him. Or more at himself. “We managed to carry you here, well the inn taker wasn’t keen on letting us in considering how…. You looked. And smelled. But well, a little more gold and everything is good.”

Kiyoomi keeps staring at him, unconvinced. “And who are you?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m Bokuto! Bokuto Koutarou, but you can call me Bokkun if you wan-”

“I don’t care.” Kiyoomi interrupts him. “What do you want from me?”

Bokuto blinks a few times, not bothered in the slightest by the rude tone. He tilts his head a little on the right, looks curiously at Kiyoomi as if he was the one who had the answer to that question. Then, his expression brightens. 

“Ah yes, sorry, sorry, it’s my first time doing the whole “welcome to the immortal group” thing and you see we don’t really have a prepared pitch, I thought it would be more like a question and answer exchange,” Kiyoomi’s headache spins, his temples hurt and he doesn’t know if it’s from the lack of energy or the conversation in itself anymore. He tries to digest everything that’s been told to him but the man- Bokuto or whatever, clearly isn’t making this easy. “...so, in conclusion, huh, do you have any questions?”

Kiyoomi closes his eyes, pinches his nose, and takes a moment to massage the ridge. 

He exhales, loudly. He can do this.

“What does _immortal_ mean exactly?”

Bokuto’s eyes crease a little, looking at him like it’s the stupidest question one could ask right now. “It means you... can’t die.” He shakes his head a little. “Well, Shoyo knows definitions better than I do, so maybe I should let him explain that part. Any other question?”

Kiyoomi’s appalled look must be all over his face because Bokuto lifts his hands in front of him, palms facing him. “Yeah, well, don’t panic, it’s-”

That’s the moment the reddish guy -who seemingly goes by the name of Shoyo- barges unannounced into the room, a tray of food between his hands. His already beaming face finds a way to look more irradiant -which is, really, just too much brightness to handle at once- when he realizes Kiyoomi has woken up. 

“Oh, hi!” He walks to the futon, kneels, and delicately sets the tray on Kiyoomi’s knees. “Did you sleep well? You must be starving to death! You should start with the soup, it’ll warm your body a little.”

Kiyoomi glances at him from the corner of his eyes before focusing on the food again. His stomach growls, audible for everyone to hear, but he doesn’t make a move towards the food.

His throat feels dry, he swallows with difficulty, the dead weight set inside him only expanding further as seconds go by. 

_Immortal_. The word doesn’t leave his mind; on the contrary it keeps echoing, finding new possible meanings each time and setting new vivid fears.

Kiyoomi gazes at the two men again. “So, what were you saying about becoming immortal?”

Bokuto opens his mouth, ready to answer when the redhead cuts him. “First, you eat. Then, we answer all the questions you have!” He sounds lighthearted but the firm, kind of withdrawn expression on his face intertwined with the crossed arms means he’s probably serious about this.

His companion frowns before nodding. 

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, biting his lips in frustration, but doesn’t say anything and proceeds to just do as he is told. 

He eats pretty fast; he’s been starving himself to death for the past few days and once he starts ingurgitating the food, he can’t stop craving for more and more until all his plates are wiped clean. 

When he looks up again, he finds two delighted smiles. Oh, what he wouldn’t do right now to just smash their stupid faces that shine too brightly, too _happily_.

The redhead speaks before he can start asking questions. “So, huh, first I’m Hinata Shoyo! Nice to meet you! What’s your name?”

“Oh, I completely forgot to ask that!” Bokuto adds, the thought seemingly just crossing his mind.

“... Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

“Nice!” Hinata answers. He wets his lips before speaking again. “So, becoming immortal is pretty simple. It means that you’re basically invincible now. Like, stuff can still cut you and you're still hurt like _gaaaah,_ " Kiyoomi frowns. "But then your skin does this thing like _wooosh_ and it's like it never happened. Kinda awesome to witness. Also, you don't age anymore."

Kiyoomi waits for a few seconds before speaking again, letting the information sink in, trying to not think about all the consequences right now. 

Too late. He can feel his heartbeat fly to the sky. 

"And…" he shuts his lips, exhales. He refuses to let the panic invade him and let it show in his tone. "How does one become immortal?" His gaze swings between the two. "Are you… also immortal?"

“Huh, we don’t really know.” Bokuto shrugs. “One day you’re at death’s door and it just happens.”

“Bokuto-san and I became immortals at the same time around…” Hinata lifts his hand and starts counting on his fingers. “Two hundred years ago.” 

“Yeah, the whole situation was kinda messed up. Thankfully we had each other and Meian-san found us quickly enough to explain the whole deal.”

Kiyoomi silently averts his eyes from Bokuto to Hinata, then Hinata to Bokuto, his mind still processing. 

He’s always been rational, so of course he shouldn’t believe any of this. Magic and miracles don’t exist and there must be a plausible explanation to why all of this is happening to him right now. He just needs to get rid of those two and find a doctor who can explain him, it may just be another disease for all he knows.

So, he doesn’t understand why he _believes_ them instead, why he accepts all those information so easily and only slowly nods in acknowledgement once everything has been apprehended by his mind.

“Let’s say I believe you,” he starts, thinking as he speaks. “How did you manage to find me?”

“Oh, it’s kinda hard to explain.” Bokuto responds. “When a newcomer appears, we all get a sort of visions? Like, I was eating with Chibi-chan and all of a sudden you appeared in my mind on a battlefield with a katana through your chest.” He winces at the memory. “And dunno how it happens but starting from there, we just… knew how to find you. We let our instinct go off and several days later we saw you in that street.”

Kiyoomi arches his eyebrows, more in consternation towards himself for giving credence to all those weird explanations mostly composed of “we don’t really know” than anything else. 

He averts his gaze for a while, letting the silence fill the room as his mind races. Strangely enough, the two newcomers don’t say anything else and seem to wait for him to speak his mind about this whole mess.

“...Last question.” Kiyoomi looks at them again, expression unreadable and voice flat. “How can I become mortal again?”

So, that’s what it took to slap those irritating smiles off their faces.

Both open their mouths at the same time, but no words come out. Kiyoomi frowns and an unsettling, dreadful feeling takes over his body. 

“You… you can’t.” The word sinks in painfully and his whole body stiffens. Hinata bites his lower lips, his eyes set onto the tatami, whereas Bokuto has averted his gaze on the sliding door. “You will, one day, become mortal again, but you don’t get to choose when.”

“Yeah, one fucking day your body decides it won’t heal anymore.” Bokuto snaps, bitter. “It can happen next week, or in ten years or in five hundred years. You don’t have a choice in the matter.” 

_And what if I don’t want this?_ Lingers on Kiyoomi’s lips but it stays back in his throat. He’s already understood that it’s never been about what he wanted in the first place. 

From afar, he hears Hinata mumble, “... That’s what happened to Meian-san and the others…”, but he isn’t listening to him anymore. 

He’s going to have to live every day for an indefinite amount of time without Atsumu by his side.

The thought doesn’t sit well and he’s overtaken by the sudden urge to throw up. His head spirals, his gaze blurs, his hands tremble, his heart rate escalates far too quickly and breathing becomes difficult. His lungs have stopped working along the way and he’s hit by a sudden pain under his ribcage as he struggles to exhale properly.

“Sa...kusa-san?” He hears it, distant, far too distant. “Sakusa-san, are you okay?”

The tray of empty food that was sitting on his knees falls to the ground. Kiyoomi’s hands cover his head, his fingers grip his hair, his arms shield his vision and he’s just left with an overwhelming sense of grief and pain, as reality sinks slowly into every fiber of his body and unfastens every emotion’s been holding until then.

He just wishes the pain could stop but realizes at the same time it just became his dearest companion, the hovering shadow behind him, the only constancy in this new solitary journey.

The tremors don’t stop before a while.

####

“Are you sure about this?” Hinata asks, a worried frown smeared on his face. “There’s no way to convince you otherwise?” 

Kiyoomi shakes his head. Two days have passed since their first discussion at the inn and Kiyoomi’s body has since then regained his initial strength. He’s had some time alone, to sulk and also think about what he should do afterwards, and Bokuto and Hinata barged in uninvited several times to bring food and make sure he was doing alright.

They’re nice folks, _sure_ , but they also speak a lot and a little too loudly, their smiles are very _bright_ and their mere presence pumps his energy out of his body. They’re not even seated in the room that Kiyoomi already feels _exhausted_.

“I’d rather be alone, right now.” The _right now_ has been added for pure politeness purposes. He’d rather die a thousand times than travel together with those two unhinged creatures who seem to share one brain cell and must have managed to survive until then only due to their immortality. There’s no other possible explanation.

“Okay, I understand.” Bokuto affirms, a little too forthrightly to sound honest. He doesn’t seem to be the type to like loneliness at all. “Well, if you ever want to join us, we’ll be traveling around. Just trust your instinct or whatever and it will lead you to us!”

Kiyoomi nods. They say their goodbyes to each other before parting ways, and he doesn’t forget to at least thank them for their help. The only answer is a tuned up beaming smile.

And that’s how Kiyoomi, Atsumu’s katana on the left and his small purse on the right, begins his lonely journey through history, not realizing yet what lies ahead.

**\- 1632 -**

If you happen to meet Sakusa Kiyoomi one day and giggle about how time flies incredibly fast and life’s too short, he would most certainly punch you right in the face and leave you for dead on the ground.

Each passing day passing feels like a fucking eternity. 

He never comes back on the battlefield with the troops and must have been considered a deserter since then, so he keeps a low profile for some time, exiling himself in a rural village in Southern Japan where people don’t ask questions and are more than happy to have a capable newcomer who can help them for harvests. 

Hiding Atsumu’s katana proves to be the most difficult thing, but he can’t be seen with such a weapon without risking to draw attention. He buries it under a small tree a few meters away from the village and comes back at night a few days later, once he has settled. He’s felt strangely empty without it, realizing the katana held a comfortable, reassuring presence.

It makes all of this a little less difficult.

Kiyoomi gets used to loneliness more quickly than he thought. At first, it’s hard, coming home to an empty place when you’ve been used to a lively presence for most of your life. Well, the life where you felt like you were actually alive, at least. 

He often dreams of Atsumu, which definitely doesn’t help with the grieving process. He dreams of domesticity, soft smiles and childish frowns. At home, he lingers for habitual touches that don’t come, for unexpected kisses that have disappeared, for someone who isn’t there when he turns around.

He remembers, also. Reminisces more often than he should, tries to keep the memories vivid and precise as if it all happened yesterday, because he doesn’t want to forget. 

Auditive hallucinations come and go. He stops looking around after the third week of hearing _omi-omi_ from nowhere.

As expected, Kiyoomi’s appearance doesn’t change over the years. Sure, the multiple harvests done under the heated sun tan his skin and bulk him up a little, but he doesn’t age in the slightest. 

It doesn’t alert the villagers at first, because Kiyoomi is discreet and never spends more time than necessary with the others; but the first rumors start spreading about twenty years later. People wonder if he is a demon, accusing him of wanting to devour their children or destroy their crops. 

So Kiyoomi has no other choice but to leave, and travels far enough to settle in another place where he won’t be recognized by anyone. 

He repeats this process four times. It tires him to no end, but the very concept of ending has left his mind for quite some time now. 

The latest town he’s settled in is a little bigger than the previous ones, far more animated due to being a commercial junction of the Western Japan, and his arrival mostly goes unnoticed. Considering how much time has passed since the war, Kiyoomi also considers it safe to show up again in more crowded places without risking to be recognized.

The rice fields stretch for as far as the eye can see and Kiyoomi finds the view appealing. He’s past the point where he tries to convince himself he’s randomly chosen this place. The strong dialect manages to warm his heart and, for the first time in a while, he feels a little closer to home.

He easily finds a job in one of the closest rice farms and life goes on as it's been for the past eighty years.

But it would be too easy, if life were to remain the way it’s been. Too easy on him, who’s only begun to appreciate some days more than others, to find contentment in the little things and search for completion in his everyday work.

No, it had to be different. Kiyoomi wasn’t allowed to live in peace; his world had to be turned upside down and his mind continuously tricked.

It’s a bright, sunny day. A day off work Kiyoomi uses to go down the main market street and stroll around the stalls for his groceries. His gaze swipes over the different displays, wondering which vegetable he could cook with the rice he’s brought back from the farm the previous day, when a mop of blonde hair catches his attention from the corner of his eyes. 

Frowning, Kiyoomi turns his head slowly. It’s not the first time he’s hallucinated crossing paths with his beloved so it doesn’t surprise him more than that; but it will be the first in a while. And here he thought he had made progress.

However, when he glances anew at the spot behind him, where a few people are gathered around a rice stall, the bleached hair is still there. Kiyoomi only sees the man’s back and his heart skips a painful beat, the next breath dying in his throat. 

He acts before he can even fathom what’s happening.

"Hey," Kiyoomi takes a few steps and stops right behind the man. He’s smaller than him by a few centimeters. "What's your name?"

It’s not as if he’s ever cared for politeness, anyway.

The man turns around and looks at him, eyebrows raised. 

Then, his lips twitch upwards, forming that unforgettable languish, shitty grin he fell in love with a long time ago. 

Kiyoomi feels sick to the core.

“‘Weird way to approach someone if yer askin’ me.” The stranger cocks an eyebrow, a bit alerted by Kiyoomi’s horrified expression. “Are ya okay, buddy? Why d’ya wanna know anyway?”

Kiyoomi’s heart threatens to drop inside his ribcage any moment from now on, hearing the sulky, nerve-racking voice stressed by the familiar dialect.

The same mischievous, brown pupils. The same soft, rosy lips. The same oversized black eyebrows. It can’t be possible, and yet the man is here, standing in front of him, looking exactly like Atsumu Miya. 

"Anyway,” the stranger speaks again, smiling more hesitantly this time, gauging Kiyoomi’s expression carefully. “My name’s Miya Atsumu. What’s yers?"

The bag of groceries Kiyoomi was holding between his arms falls abruptly on the ground, loudly enough to catch the attention of bystander. The stranger’s gaze follows the sudden movement, startled, while Kiyoomi just keeps staring at him, mouth hung open, his gaze becoming less focused as the seconds go by.

His heartbeat escalates, and he proceeds to act on the first thing he’s thinking of: running. Running as quickly as he can, as far as he’s able to, running and disappearing and wishing he’d never left his house to begin with.

Distantly, he hears the man yell behind him “ _Wait!_ ” but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to. He runs, runs, _runs_ until his lungs burn and his legs weaken, but he keeps running through the town, across the main road, inside the small forest. He runs and doesn’t look back, haunted by the feeling of being _chased_ , runs until his body gives up and his foot trips on a tree limb, his body falls first and hard onto the ground as his head hits a rock.

A black hole.

  
  


_Pock. Pock. Pock._

Kiyoomi’s awakened by the bothersome feeling of heavy drops hitting his face. It takes him a few seconds to regain consciousness and open his eyes, hazy and unfocused, gifted with the sight of treetops and a darkened sky.

It’s raining. It’s been raining for quite some time apparently, because he can feel his body freezing cold and his soaked clothes disgustingly glued to his skin. 

Also, his forehead hurts pretty badly.

His hand travels through his face, up to his temple, and he feels a wet, sticky liquid on his fingers. Kiyoomi tilts his head to the left a little to take a look at his fingers and unimpressively discovers the half-dried blood cloaking around his digits. He touches his head again on the spot where it hurts the most only to find the skin perfectly soft.

So, immortality is still kicking off. Great. Amazing. Great news.

For a second, Kiyoomi wonders if he shouldn’t just drift back to sleep, uncomfortably sprawled on the grass with stones kicking his back and a tree limb under his right leg. What difference would it make? How long was he unconscious for, anyway? 

Maybe he’s been here for days. He tries to remember what happened before his fall, and the smuglish face of definitely-not-Atsumu-Miya slaps him awake straight away. 

It must be a nightmare. There’s no other plausible explanation for this. Atsumu died in his arms years ago and not a day has gone by without remembering what it felt like. How his arms still itch from the ghostly touch and how the distant stench of blood still makes him nauseous.

Then, once again, there was no plausible explanation for his wounds magically closing on their own in the first place.

Kiyoomi exhales a shaky, difficult breath. He counts to three and gets up, his body painfully sore from all the time he’s spent lying unconscious there. He takes a look at his clothes: his pants are stained with grass remains and mud, and the sleeves of his kimono are torn in several places. 

He sighs and starts walking back to the village, determined to take a hot bath and throw those clothes in the trash and to find who on Earth is that stranger.

###

Kiyoomi runs into him a week later. Or, to put it more accurately, the stranger finds him a week later.

Kiyoomi is taking a look at a food display on the main street when he feels a touch on his right shoulder. He flinches under the sensation and turns around abruptly.

“Oh, s’rry, didn’t mean to startle ya.” 

He’s met face to face with a too-familiar grin, strands of blonde hair falling in front of his playful eyes. 

The man speaks before Kiyoomi can open his mouth. “ ‘Saw ya ‘round the corner an’ wanted to ask, ain’t ya the one who, ya know, asked for my name last week before runnin’ away? Just makin’ sure, it’s fine if ya wanna pretend it wasn’t ya.”

Insufferable. The grin, the way he puts his hands on his hips, his weird hair. He’s always told Atsumu his hair looked horrendous. He can still hear the delightful laugh brushing off the comment. 

Kiyoomi scowls, deeply. Must stare at him with killing intent because the stranger backs off a little from his personal space, putting his hands in front of him.

“ ‘Kay, ‘got it. Can I at least know yer name? That ain’t very polite to run away from people.” 

“No, you can’t.” Kiyoomi finds the strength to blurb out, firmly. 

“Oh, ‘nice to see yer able to talk, ‘was starting to doubt that.”

A warm, intimate feeling of deep annoyment swells on his insides. Kiyoomi finds himself thinking he’d like nothing more than to slap that grin off that too handsome face and give the man something to dwell on for their next meeting. 

He’s stupid, definitely as stupid as Atsumu was during their first encouter, all self-confident and insufferable; batting his long, dark eyelashes while delivering his unwanted opinion on things in an obnoxious way. 

Kiyoomi has this day committed to this memory, an image seared in his mind that will never leave.

He shakes his head in disbelief, gifts the man a dismissive side look, huffs, and turns around without saying anything. He starts making his way back home, determined to not let that weird encounter bother him more than it already has.

Atsumu is dead. He isn’t coming back.

But he should know better than to think he can get rid of this man so easily if he truly wants to live up to that fated name. Soon enough, the familiar feeling of someone’s gaze burning a hole through his back gets him, as well as the unnerving sensation of being followed.

After a few minutes of stubbornly ignoring it, he turns his head slightly to look over his shoulder.

The stranger is following him, looking perfectly at ease doing so. He waves at him, his shit-eating grin growing wider. 

Kiyoomi’s frown deepens in reaction, but he doesn't say anything. He knows all too well that this person feeds first and foremost on the annoyance of others. So he just keeps walking, slightly accelerating his pace.

The stranger imitates him. Kiyoomi accelerates the pace. The stranger keeps up with it.

At some point, both of them are practically running through the street, attracting the attention of the people passing by.

Suddenly, Kiyoomi decides he’s had enough of this little masquerade. He stops without warning and the man bumps into him abruptly before taking a step back. 

Kiyoomi turns around to face him, not amused by the whole situation in the slightest. "Following strangers around is rude."

Definitely-not-Atsumu tilts his head to the right, cockes his right eyebrow in wonder and crosses his arms on his chest. "An’ askin' someone's name but not sayin’ yours ain't rude ? Yer the one runnin' away twice."

"I'm not running away." Kiyoomi grits his teeth. It physically pains him to look at this all-too familiar face, widening the gaping hole that’s already set in his chest. It has to be some kind of bad joke. It can’t be him. "You're bothering me. Get the fuck away from me."

“Yer not very nice.”

“I’m not trying to be.” 

Kiyoomi starts walking towards his house again. As expected, the man follows him.

“C’mooon, I just wanna know yer name.” Kiyoomi doesn’t need to see the pout and displeased expression to know it’s there. That pleading tone has always been Atsumu’s last resort when he wanted to obtain something. “I promise I’ll let you alone afta that.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes but still stops. He looks at him from the corner of his eye, eyebrows furrowed in suspicion, trying to decipher if that man is being honest.

Of course, he isn’t, not for one bit. He isn’t even trying to be, which is the most infuriating part about this.

Kiyoomi gauges him for a few seconds. Then, he closes his eyes, exhales and doesn’t look at the stranger anymore.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi.” He says, emotionless. 

Without another word, he resumes his walk. This time, the stranger doesn’t follow. 

###

The stranger doesn’t leave him alone. 

Kiyoomi didn’t expect any less of him. He doesn’t dwell on the fact that he’s not one bit surprised or even angry when he meets the stranger once again, or that the stranger smiles at him and starts speaking as if they’ve known each other for years.

Nope, it certainly doesn’t hurt him, nor does it remind of old times he wishes he could go back to. Nope, he doesn’t find it weird that the stranger eventually leaves him instead of walking back to their home together, before wondering why he imagined so. 

Nope, everything is great, fucking _fantastic_ even. Kiyoomi isn’t totally losing years of grieving process in mere weeks, and doesn’t live in denial of that fact, absolutely not.

"It's weird that we haven't met before, dontcha think? Feel like we shoulda met before!" Definitely-not-Atsumu admits one day, following him around as Kiyoomi picks up his groceries. 

Kiyoomi grits his teeth, side-eyes him. 

Why does he indulge this situation at all? No. He stops himself before he can even think about it. Self-introspection definitely isn’t what he needs right now. It would be too much to realize he’s just projecting his dead lover onto that Doppelganger that looks, acts, smiles, dresses and speaks exactly like him and secretly yearns to spend as much time as he can because he misses him terribly.

Years of grieving process right into the nearest pit.

"Why would that be weird?" He says through his teeth. 

"Don't know," The man shrugs. “Ya said ya only moved here a few weeks ago an’ I believe ya, but feels like there’s more to… “ He sweeps into the void with his hand. "...to this. Are ya sure we never met before ?" 

Kiyoomi doesn't know how to handle this discussion. The truth wouldn't do them any good. It wouldn’t help him in the slightest. 

“Pretty sure we haven’t.” Kiyoomi answers, short and stern. “I tend to avoid crowded places.”

He stubbornly refuses to look at him, far too busy figuring out what vegetables he will cook tonight. 

“Yeah, ‘figured as much.” A pause. “Ya shouldn’t buy stuff from this stall.”

Great. Truly unexpected, truly. 

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” Kiyoomi retorts, side-eying him with defiance. 

The man shrugs, the shit-eating grin not leaving his irritating face. “Do as ya wish.”

 _Ho_ , of course, he isn’t going to elaborate on his own. It wouldn’t stroke his ego if Kiyoomi didn’t explicitly ask him why, and Kiyoomi would rather die than indulge him. 

So, he no longer pays attention to the stranger, decides which vegetables he’s going to buy and does it without hesitating. The man is still lurking behind him, following his every move, but doesn’t comment any further. He leaves him shortly after, pretending he has to go help at another stall, and Kiyoomi barely acknowledges him as he leaves.

By now, he’s figured that not asking questions and not getting interested in definitely-not-Atsumu would be the safest way to get out of this mess. Surely, the man would get bored at some point of not receiving the attention he thinks he deserves, and can’t live without. 

Kiyoomi tries to not dwell too much on the sudden, overly familiar feeling of emptiness and loneliness that follows him back home. A cloud hovering over his head, that seemingly fades away when an annoying yet beaming presence barges right next by him. An intimate presence that chases the companion of his most recent journeys and claims his place by his side and inside his heart.

The vegetables are disgusting, to say the least, and Kiyoomi groans as he empties the rest of his meal inside the trash.

###

It doesn’t take long for Kiyoomi to snap.

In hindsight, he held back longer than anyone else would have expected him to, especially considering his mental state. Having your dead boyfriend’s clone, who proves a little more each day how similar he is to the one you left dead on a battlefield, hanging with you one day a week for months does take a toll on your ability to function as a normal being.

Kiyoomi starts skipping meals. Stops sleeping. Forces himself to get out of his house to work, and forces himself to head back to it. It has become a habit to wait until the stranger leaves his side to stroll around the town, walk to the nearest forest and not return until the moon is bright and shiny and reminds him of the time. 

The moonlight always manages to shush him back at the end. Between two trees, Kiyoomi looks up to the source light up in the sky and can’t help to feel it looking back, judgemental and authoritative, ordering him to just stop messing around.

Most of the time, he’s managed to exhaust himself enough to just pass out and not dream. Sometimes, nightmares come to haunt him. 

He’s relieved to have a job which keeps him from seeing the stranger too much. But soon, he starts craving his presence, their short yet meaningful interactions. One minute he thinks he should leave the city the day after, the other he wonders if the man will show up to hang out with him during his purchases like he usually does.

Each week, he wakes up sweating and haunted, dreads to find him at the usual spot.

Each week, his insides burn with anxiety and nausea threatens his throat as he dreads to not find him at the usual spot.

“...Yer okay?” 

Kiyoomi startles. He didn’t realize he was dozing off until he stumbled on a small roc and nearly fell on the ground. Thankfully, definitely-not-Atsumu grabbed his arm in time.

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Kiyoomi’s gaze is cast on the ground, blurred around the edge. He blinks a few times to focus again. Then, he realizes the stranger is still gripping his arm and jerks away from it. The man backs off a little in reaction, retrieving his hand immediately. Kiyoomi sees a flash of pain crossing that too endearing face, before it’s replaced with a soft, saddened smile.

“S’rry. Didn’t mean to hurt ya.”

His arm itches from the touch.

Kiyoomi doesn’t have time to answer before the other speaks again. He averts his eyes on the grown for a second before looking again at Kiyoomi, a more joyful smile on his lips. A facade, threatening to crumble at any moment. A lie, one that Kiyoomi recognizes easily because it never suited him.

“Well, huh, gotta head back!” The man scratches the back of his neck in obvious embarrassment. Kiyoomi frowns. “I’m needed somewhere else today, s’rry.”

The next words escape his mouth. “Why do you even bother in the first place?” It sounds harsh, which was the initial intent; but it also comes out doubtful, almost _pained_. The stranger arches an eyebrow, mouth slightly opened, and Kiyoomi grits his teeth. “... Don’t you have something better to do?”

Two things happen at the same time.

The man’s eyes widen perceptibly, his mouth forms a _o_ before curving upwards, his head tilts to the right a little, and a soft, heartwarming expression takes over.

Meanwhile, Kiyoomi is struck by lightning. By a memory he thought had perished along the years of loneliness, eaten away by the inevitability of time. He struggles to catch his next breath, his gaze blurring once again. “Wait, don’t bother-”

“Well, yer far more interestin’ than anything else in this town. _”_

Kiyoomi looks at him. Looks through him, looks beyond him. Blinks, and an older Atsumu appears in front of him, soft and mischievous. 

_‘Don’t see anything more int’resting to do here than lookin’ at ya._

He looks at him, heart drumming in his chest so hard his ribcage stings. He looks at him, wets his lips and feels his fingers quiver. He looks at him, sweat running down his neck and distant sounds buzzing in his ears.

He looks at him and then doesn’t. The ground vanishes from under his feet. His eyelids grow heavier and his body feels limp, disobeying his every orders.

He closes his eyes, and falls unconscious on the ground in the middle of the market street.

###

When he opens his eyes, Kiyoomi is met with a bunch of blond locks and a curious, worried gaze. Dark brown eyes are looming curiously over him, long eyelashes batting so close from his face he can almost sense the air flow it causes.

He wakes up and he finds the man’s head hanging not twenty centimeters above his. 

Kiyoomi thoroughly _hates_ the sense of deja-vu the situation brings him. People are already keen enough on forgetting what personal space means when he’s conscious, but the concept seemingly evaporates where he’s too weak to do something about it. 

It goes without saying that should Atsumu and Bokuto meet one day, they would certainly become best pals to the detriment of Kiyoomi’s peace of mind.

The man grins at him, all worry dissipating in the process, and straightens up before Kiyoomi can say anything. "Glad to know yer alive! That was kinda scary of ya to do that."

Kiyoomi lifts one of his hands from under the covers and massages the ridges of his nose, trying to remember what happened. God, all this immortal shit and healing powers and nothing that can’t prevent him from falling unconscious? Utterly useless. 

He looks at the unfamiliar ceiling a little more, blinks a few times to make sure everything is alright and slowly sits up on the futon. His head spins at the movement but nothing unbearable considering what he’s been through.

He feels a light touch between his shoulder blades, making sure he doesn’t fall or bang his head against the wall behind. The contact vanishes before he can even fight it and the stranger’s arm falls limp besides him as if nothing happened. Kiyoomi follows the movement before averting his gaze to the blonde-haired guy, who’s definitely not a stranger anymore.

"So, huh, do ya often faint in the middle of the street?"

"...Not really." Kiyoomi answers. He also faints in the middle of the forest, sometimes. But that’s a story for another time. "Where are we?"

"My house." Not-Atsumu answers. The sheepish grin widens. "Ya know, _omi-omi,_ I never had a guy faintin' just by lookin' at me, guess I'm that han- ouch!"

Not-Atsumu is interrupted -certainly for the best- by a slap behind the head. Kiyoomi sweeps his gaze from not-Atsumu’s wincing face to the man standing just behind him. He blinks a few times, wondering if he’s still caught up in the haze of his awakening or if a second Miya Atsumu Doppelganger -with a different hair color and a deadpan expression- just appeared in this house.

"Can’t leave ya thirty seconds alone without ya botherin' the guest, ya dipshit." The grey-haired man gazes at Kiyoomi, keeping the same stern face. “Ya don’t have to talk to him. Diner’ll be ready in a minute.”

Kiyoomi’s scowl only deepens in response, but the stranger vanishes before he can start asking questions. He takes advantage of not-Atsumu’s momentary silence to take a quick look around the room. Nothing appears out of place -small rooms, wooden walls, a futon and sliding door-.

Then, he turns his head towards the blonde-haired man and just stares at him.

"Don't look at me like that !" not-Atsumu answers. "I wasn't gonna let ya die on the street."

"... What time is it?"

"Almost eight. Ya can stay for dinner, ‘Sam’s making foot for the three of us." He adds, seconds later. "He thinks ya fainted because ya didn’t eat. ‘Doesn't wanna admit I _do_ that to people."

Kiyoomi’s eyebrows almost blend together. “...’Sam?”

“Yeah, my shitty twin brother. Name’s Osamu.” Not-Atsumu groans. 

Kiyoomi’s surroundings start spinning again, but it has nothing to do with his weak physical state this time.

A downfall realization punches him right in the stomach, leaves him breathless for a second. He blinks, several times, tries to anchor himself into the world, averts his gaze somewhere else but his eyes keep coming back to not-Atsumu’s annoyed expression. 

_Y’know, had a brother. Twin. ‘Died when we were little, of disease. ‘Miss him everyday. Ya woulda liked him._

All at once, Kiyoomi stops believing in coincidences and reality starts sinking into his heart, his body, his mind. 

Flashes go through Kiyoomi’s mind and he’s left powerless with flooding memories of Atsumu talking to him, sitting next to him, smiling at him, kissing him, sleeping beside him.

 _Omi-omi._ An honeyed tone. A sheepish grin. 

“Omi-kun?” He’s always hated this nickname until he’s grown too used to it. Until he realized how lovely it sounded coming from this mouth. Until one day, he unfolded the lingering adoration it upheld. 

_Omi-omi!_

_Omi-kun?_

_Omi._

_Kiyoooooomi._

_Hey, omi._

_Omi?!_

Until he understood that Atsumu had his own way of saying _I love you_.

Kiyoomi lifts his gaze, looks at the man. Looks at the features he thought he would never get to see again in his life, at the person he survived, mourned, left behind.

Not-Atsumu isn’t smiling anymore. His lips are parted and a worried frown has invaded his face. 

The first time Kiyoomi managed to smash off the grin from that handsome face, it had felt alleviating. Atsumu had pouted and looked annoyed at anyone but him and he did wonder why, many times. Later, he realized that that annoying smile was never meant to leave in the first place. It _belonged_ there, perched between flushed cheeks and under creased, mischieving eyes; and it brought peacefulness and contentment to Kiyoomi, as discreet those feelings were. 

He spent all those years searching for that comforting presence, ached for soft touches and sheepish grins, wished nothing more than to be reunited with _him_. 

There might be a price - _no_ there has to be a price for what stands not one meter from him, kneeling and frowning. He isn’t stupid enough to think the world is being considerate with him. It will come knocking on the door sooner or later and ask for what’s rightfully its. 

But Atsumu Miya is there, in front of him, within reach. He could touch him, embrace him, lay his head on his shoulders or fall asleep against his lap. He’s there, just there, after all those years of emptiness, all those months of standing besides- he’s there and he’s not leaving. 

Something breaks inside Kiyoomi’s body. He trembles, exhales; and for the first time in what felt like eternity, the gaping hole that lingers in his chest shrinks.

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu murmurs, barely audible for him to hear. “Why are ya cryin’?”

Kiyoomi blinks, brings his fingers to the corner of his eye, finds him wet. Traces the watery feeling down his cheek with his trembling digit. He blamed the blur on his unfocused gaze, didn’t realize he was crying.

He snorts, more loudly than he intended to, and breaks down. He starts sobbing, pours out everything he’s been holding those nearly a century, ever since Atsumu died in his arms, whines and cries, cries, cries until his temples ache and his eyes burn. 

He just cries, and Atsumu doesn’t stop him.

\---

"...Are ya feelin' better?" Atsumu tries, voice much more hesitant than usual. 

His eyes never felt so dry in his whole life. Kiyoomi doesn’t think he can cry for at least a month after what he shed right there. He massages his temples slowly with his puffy eyes closed. When he opens them again, the wooden ceiling stares back at him. He can note a few imperfections in it now.

At some point, he had to lay down again. He may even have fallen asleep again, amidst his loud and embarrassing nervous collapse. It doesn’t matter much, anyway.

"'Samu made some soup, if ya hungry." Atsumu speaks again, and Kiyoomi turns his head to look at him.

He looks at him, watches his eyelashes flutter and his eyes slightly widen. Then, he nods and Atsumu beams immediately in response -a smile that makes Kiyoomi’s heart clench, both in pain and adoration- before getting up and leaving.

Five minutes later, he's sitting on the futon once again, a bowl of soup between his hands. He eats in silence, relieved that Atsumu isn’t asking questions for once. He makes a point in avoiding his pointed stare and focuses solely on his soup. 

Of course, silence is never welcomed in a room where Atsumu Miya sits.

"’Sam also kept some onigris for ya if ya want.” The blonde-haired man says, once he’s set down his empty bowl. “Free onigris from the Miya stall"

"The Miya stall?" Kiyoomi tilts his head a little.

"Yeah, ya know, my brother’s stall in the main alley?” Atsumu blinks. “ “Never seen it?"

Kiyoomi's eyebrows furrow. "No. I don't like onigiris."

Atsumu gasps, loudly. As expected. "What?! How is it even possible?! What do ya eat if ya don't like onigiris?!"

".... Mostly vegetables, rice and tuna. Chicken, sometimes."

"Ya don’t make any sense! Onigiri’s precisely rice ya stuff with yer favorite things inside!! And my brother's are the best ones in the whole region."

A distant voice comes from another room. “Nice to know yer as least complimentin’ me in front of strangers!”

Atsumu mumbles something like “fuck off ‘Sam”, but Kiyoomi isn’t sure. 

"I don't like food made with some stranger’s bare hand.” He answers sternly. 

“Oh, that’s the only thing botherin’ ya?” Atsumu responds immediately, mischief visible in his eyes. “‘Sam can teach ya how to do yers if ya want. ‘Pretty simple if ya ask me.” 

The distant voice snaps, “Says the guy who didn’t manage to do som’thin’ edible after workin’ three hours on it!” 

Atsumu frowns and turns around. “Yer the one who gave me shitty rice!”

“Yer the one who didn’t listen to me and didn’t let the rice properly soak, ya lil’ dipshit!” 

“Ya didn’t tell me to wet my hands before, ya useless fucker!”

“What?!” 

Not a second after, Osamu barges into the room and grabs Atsumu's collar, forcing the latter to stand up. From there, Kiyoomi just observes the brothers fighting and calling each other’s names from his standpoint, mesmerized by the scene. He doesn’t even think about separating them or saying anything, taken away by the scene. 

He’s never seen anyone stand up to Atsumu in such a way and he commits the scene to memory, figuring it isn’t the first time they quarrel like this, and certainly won’t be the last. 

The dispute wears down a few minutes later, after they banged their foreheads against each other with enough force to get a clear bruise. Osamu storms out of the room just after and Atsumu sticks his tongue out in his direction, making Kiyoomi roll his eyes. 

Amidst the annoyment, he feels warm and comfort enveloping him. 

He could get used to this.

Kiyoomi realizes that it might be time to head back to his house. He stands up in silence and gets rid of the too visible wrinkles on his clothes. Then, his gaze lingers on Atsumu’s grumpy face, displeased pout and defensive posture, and his lips threaten to curl upwards. 

It might not be his house, but it feels like his home. 

\---

“Are ya sure I can’t walk ya down to yer house?”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. I just said I didn’t want you to and I’m sure of that.” 

Atsumu blinks, then starts laughing; ringing clear and bright into the night. It softens something inside Kiyoomi.

“Right, I ain’t gonna try my luck on this one.” Atsumu answers. “ ‘Will see ya next week then.”

Kiyoomi arches an eyebrow. “Who says I wanna keep meeting with you each week?”

Atsumu immediately drops his smile, panic taking over his face, his body stiffening. He gasps, unable to produce any sound, and Kiyoomi doesn’t wait more than three seconds before speaking again, dry as ever. “I’m joking.” 

Atsumu blinks, before closing his eyes and gasping childishly. “Omiiii!” Kiyoomi’s heart skips a painful beat. “Ya have no right to do that to my heart! An’ ya can’t make jokes with such a serious face!” 

“Who says I can’t?” He manages to blurb out, all but interested in the conversation suddenly.

“People have to know yer jokin’! Ya have to trust me on this one, omi-kun.”

 _I would trust you with my life_ , he thinks. He doesn’t answer though, just _looks_ at him. Atsumu tilts his head to the right, his nose crunching slightly. 

He speaks again after a few seconds of silence, "Omi-kun? Is there smothin' wrong with my face ?"

 _Omi-kun_.

Kiyoomi’s body acts on his own, before he can think of anything else. He extends his arm to Atsumu and his hand comes to brush Atsumu's cheek, his thumb caressing the skin absentmindedly. His eyes trail down to those soft, quivering lips and the little faucet under them before sweeping back to Atsumu’s widened eyes.

The moonlight is enough to expose the furious blush that has colored his cheeks.

"Omi-omi," he whispers this time and Kiyoomi shivers. "Can I touch yer moles, please ?"

Kiyoomi nods. It could be considered as a mere quiver for anybody, and not a clear sign of acknowledgement. But Atsumu isn't anybody.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Atsumu’s fingers come to linger against Kiyoomi’s forehead. They part some raven curls, touch reverent and cautious, and brush against the two dark beauty marks. 

Kiyoomi feels Atsumu’s breath tingling against his nose, hears his loud, precipitated heartbeat, watches him being entranced by what lays above his right eyebrow. 

"Yer gonna…" Atsumu starts, still not looking at him. He swallows. "Ya gonna think I'm crazy." A pause. "But 'feels like I’ve already seen those somewhere."

Kiyoomi’s mouth opens slightly. His touch against Atsumu’s cheek falters as his hand travels down to Atsumu’s arm and tugs the fabric. He bends down a little, heads drawing near until their foreheads brush against each other. Atsumu’s fingers trail to the dark curls, entwining his digits amidst them, half-lidded eyes anchoring into Kiyoomi’s raven pupils.

They stay like this for an indefinite amount of time, captivated by the other, touch hesitant and languid, suspended in their own reality. 

Dizziness strikes him, drunk on this overwhelming infatuation that spreads through every fiber of his body. His heartbeat races and for once he welcomes it, embraces the warmth and peace that comes along. 

Atsumu looks at him, intently. Searching for something, anything. Clues, permission, and a hint of what’s happening right now. 

Kiyoomi has nothing to offer in response because he doesn’t understand either. He doesn’t understand and can’t explain, he just _knows_. He’s never been so sure at this precise moment that the man he’s holding close, whose scent invades his nostrils and warmth comforts his heart, is indeed the man he’s loved and cherished.

His gaze trails down to those lips, hung open delicately in invitation. 

He meets him halfway through the reduced distance. The first touch of flesh against flesh is wet and hesitant, a mere peck; but it’s enough to send a shiver through Kiyoomi’s spine. His hand relinquishes the fabric and grips Atsumu’s nape, they part for a second before tilting their heads and kissing again, hungry and _urging_.

They don’t talk; but not because they’re afraid. No, there’s a mutual understanding as their kisses get messier and their hands bolder; as they trail back to Atsumu’s house not caring for anything else but the touch of the other’s skin; and they lose themselves in each other’s body and inhale each other’s breathe, moan, cry. 

There’s something unique and indefinable in exploring a place you’ve been overly familiar with a long time ago; and Atsumu’s body embraces Kiyoomi’s return as if he never left in the first place. 

They go at it, again and again. Sometimes it’s slow, delicate and unhurried; sometimes it’s rough, urgent and carnal. Sometimes Kiyoomi stops thrusting to inhale the scent of Atsumu’s neckline, to kiss and fervor the skin that lays below him; sometimes Kiyoomi’s fingerprints are printed on Atsumu’s hips as he harshly buries himself in the body seated on his lap and wrecks him with abrupt, ruthless slaps of skin against skin.

They fell asleep at dawn, tangled in each other’s embrace, the sheets dirtied and their skins tainted. Atsumu’s leg hovers over Kiyoomi’s one and Kiyoomi’s arm envelopes Atsumu’s waist.

He falls asleep, finally feeling at peace with the world, and with himself.

###

"'Sum thinks something's wrong with ya."

Kiyoomi turns his head to the left. Osamu isn’t looking at him, too busy with his multi-tasking: folding an onigiri with one hand while the other is holding his two-year-old daughter against his chest. 

“He won’t tell ya ‘bout it.” Osamu speaks again, finishing properly his work before setting it on the kitchen counter of their small house. Then, he finally casts a glance at him. “He didn’t elaborate, of course. Makin’ him admit somethin’ was botherin’ him took me long enough.”

Kiyoomi’s mouth feels dry. “Yeah, figured as much.” He stopped folding his own onigiri, digits trembling slightly around the cold rice.

Osamu keeps looking at him for a few seconds before taking another handful of rice from the bowl and getting back to his task. “I don’t wanna know if he’s bein’ overly dramatic or if he’s right. ‘Just wanted ya to know before he becomes truly insufferable.” 

Kiyoomi’s throat has tightened too much to properly speak, so he only nods, and gets back to finish his onigiri.

They don’t speak further about the subject.

\---

Kiyoomi isn’t blind. He didn’t need Osamu to know something has been going on with Atsumu during those last weeks. 

Truth is, he dreaded it. He dreaded this moment, and no matter how much time he spent over the last years going at it again and again, he never found a proper way to tackle the subject. 

Coming from that, it could only lead them to this situation.

Welcoming back Atsumu into his life proved to be utterly fulfilling. Kiyoomi loved every second of it. He’s found purpose in his routine again, come back home from the rice fields to his beloved soothing him with kisses and soft touches, or to lively fights between brothers who had lived together for far too long. 

They moved in together quickly enough, a little further from the main street so as to not attract attention. Osamu’s marriage followed and he now lives a street further with his family. They often end up dining together at one place or another, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Kiyoomi cherishes privacy above anything else, they would have moved all together at once.

That, and Osamu’s unwillingness to hear them fucking through the entiere house.

Their life over the years was everything Kiyoomi had ever dreamed of: simple, domestic and peaceful. No war, no training, no fear; only Atsumu, their everyday work and their house. Their evening often consisted of making dinner and making love, sometimes one after the other, sometimes the contrary, more exceptionally both at the same time. Then, they laid entangled together, told each other stories and murmured their mutual adoration as sleep was overtaking them.

But Kiyoomi rarely slept peacefully, and often woke up short of breath with crippling fears and a dreading feeling itching the back of his neck.

At first, he thought he had time to tell Atsumu about it. About him, what he was, what he’s done in his previous life, who was Atsumu Miya. He didn’t worry too much about it and thought he did a great job at dodging the most personal questions. 

“Omi-omi, what’s this?” Kiyoomi had turned around one time, only to see Atsumu holding a katana in his hands. _His_ katana.

Kiyoomi had only been able to murmur “Nothing. Just a memory.”, as he’d taken the blade away, hidden it in a corner of their house, and avoided Atsumu’s pained gaze. Two hours later, Atsumu was desperately clinging on his shoulders and moaning at the crook of his neck, back against the wall as Kiyoomi sank into him, his hands everywhere, whispering the same litany of words.

_Please, don’t leave me, please -don’t leave me._

Atsumu understood, eventually. He never pried, knew when to stop asking, soothed him back to sleep when his nightmares consisted in vivid recollections of a battlefield and a dead corpse hanging in his arms. 

Atsumu respected his boundaries, but silence also calme with a price; and Kiyoomi knew he eventually had to come to terms with it. Mostly because, even though he stayed the same healthy young man with dark curls and darker eyes, Atsumu was getting older each year passing. Wrinkles permanently forcing their way on his forehead, strands of hair getting grey, his little faucet deepening.

Atsumu was still tremendously beautiful but he was aging, and Kiyoomi wasn’t.

Inevitably was coming a time where Kiyoomi would have to leave, and the sole thought froze his insides and made his head spin. 

He belonged nowhere else but by Atsumu’s side. His life held no purpose but to be spent alongside Atsumu. Kiyoomi could still remember the many days he carried without him where he wished he could have died. He couldn’t go back to that now that he’d found happiness.

But Kiyoomi knew better than to think he’s ever had a choice in the matter.

Yeah, he definitely had to tell him.

\----

Kiyoomi sighs deeply. 

Inhale, close his eyes, exhale. 

He can do this. He has no other choice but to do it anyway, if he doesn’t want his relationship with Atsumu to deteriorate. He can’t keep this from him any longer, he has to do something about it. 

_What if Atsumu doesn’t believe him? What if he gets angry? What if he feels tricked?_

Kiyoomi rubs his temple with one hand, using the other to support himself against the kitchen’s furniture. 

_God, I should have told him years ago. I should have told him and left, I shouldn’t have been able to spend all this time with him, I don’’t deserve him, I’ve been too carefree, I should have seen it coming, I shouldn’t be th-_

A body suddenly pressing against his back startles him. Two firm arms embrace his waist and he feels strands of hair tickling the back of his neck as a warm head nests itself between his shoulder blades.

“I’m home!” Honey fills the cold room and Kiyoomi’s stiffened body relaxes. His lips twitch upwards, ever so slightly. 

“Welcome home.” Kiyoomi’s hand rests on top of Atsumu’s. “You’re here early.”

“Yeah, ‘sum sold all his onigiris quickly so, kinda dismissed me earlier than usual.” Atsumu’s voice is muffled against the fabric of his kimono, so Kiyoomi almost misses the next words. “Why, does it bother ya?” 

Kiyoomi frowns, takes Atsumu’s hands between his own to soften the grip around his waist, and turns around to face him. Atsumu lifts his head, anchors his gaze into Kiyoomi’s. It carries something small and unknown that he’s seen more and more lately, each time he catches his beloved looking at him when he thinks he isn’t seen. 

Fear, maybe. Or insecurity.

Strands of hair have fallen in front of his eyes. Kiyoomi lifts his hands and discards them delicately, makes his touch linger more than necessary against his temple, brushes the skin. 

“No, not at all.” Kiyoomi answers eventually. “I thought we could cook together tonight.” 

Atsumu arches an eyebrow. “Ya want me to help ya cook? ‘Thought I was forbidden from setting foot in this kitchen.” 

“You’re still not allowed anywhere near the stove.” 

Atsumu smirks. “An’ here I almost believed that my omi-omi had been kidnapped an’ replaced.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “You wish.” 

He pecks Atsumu’s lips quickly and takes the ingredients from the shelves. He gives half the vegetables to his lover and keeps the rest to himself, as well as the rice. He starts the fire, brings the rice to a boil before setting up next to Atsumu and cutting vegetables.

Atsumu starts talking, mostly telling him about his day and little anecdotes he encountered at the market street. At first, Kiyoomi listens, but he’s quickly snatched away from the conversation by unsought thoughts and crippling anxiety. He turns the words over and over in his head, how he should introduce the problem, how to expose the whole thing, what phrasing he should use to not make him completely freak out-

“Omi-kun, ya listenin’?” Kiyoomi blinks. “Omi-omi?” 

Kiyoomi turns his head abruptly, forgetting what he’s doing with his hands. Suddenly, a sharp pain coming from his finger overtakes him and he winces, drops the knife and casts his gaze on his right hand. 

Blood is flowing, taints his skin and spreads from his digits to the palm before trailing down to his wrist. Kiyoomi freezes on sight, entranced by the sight, mind overflowing with memories and pictures, crimson splattered on his clothes, on his face, on his _hands_. 

_Atsumu! Atsumu! No-No-_

Nausea threatens the back of his throat, his vision clouded in vermillion, unable to move. He’s freezing cold but his entire body feels on fire, his heart on the verge of exploding inside his ribcage. 

He hears a distant sound. Someone calling him. An auditory hallucination for sure. He’s been used to it, it’s nothing important, it’ll go away soon, he just needs to remember that Atsumu die-

“Kiyoomi!” A hand tugs violently at the left sleeve of his kimono. He blinks, focuses, watches his blood-stained hand. “What the heck are ya doing?!”

He doesn’t have time to react before a cloth is thrown around his digit and a hand is pressed around it. 

“Kiyoomi, are ya okay?” Kiyoomi turns his head toward the direction of the sound. He finds Atsumu’s worried gaze and distressed expression. His voice softens. “Kiyoomi?”

“...Sorry.” He manages to blurb out somehow. “It’s nothing, don’t worry.”

It stopped hurting pretty quickly, Kiyoomi realizes. He can feel the skin closing on its own, leaving nothing but a bad memory anchored to his mind. Just one more, nothing else. 

Atsumu is already looking for proper rags around the kitchen. He finds some and comes back quickly, extends his arm to grab the wrist. However, Kiyoomi reacts just before and he jerks away his hand from a possible touch. 

He can’t let him see, can’t let him know, can’t let him t-

Atsumu’s hand freezes mid-air. Confusion appears on his face before it transforms into disappointment. His arm falls limp by his side, and his eyes look down, a shadow hiding his expression. 

He puts the neat cloth on the counter. “Here. Put this ‘round yer finger.” Then, steps aside, ready to turn around and leave the kitchen.

Kiyoomi grabs Atsumu’s wrist with his unharmed hand, forgetting to hold the rag between his fingers. It falls on the floor but he couldn’t care less at the moment. “Atsumu, wait.” He wants to apologize, to explain himself, to make it okay. 

The next words get struck in his throat. He’s never been good with words, always preferred to show his affection through gestures. Atsumu _was-_ is the one who charms people with his honeyed voice and wicked smirk. 

Thankfully, Atsumu turns around to look at him. They’re not sixteen anymore, fighting over silly things and spending their night in different rooms, sulking over dumb words that meant nothing. In this lifetime, they’re grown adults and should act like ones.

Atsumu put his pride aside to give him a chance and Kiyoomi has to live up to that. 

He doesn’t get the chance to though, as Atsumu’s gaze trails towards his blood-soaked fingers, eyes widening in consternation. “Omi, yer hand!”

This time, Kiyoomi doesn’t dodge. Atsumu takes the wrist delicately and starts pressing his finger to where the cut should be. Kiyoomi casts his glance on Atsumu’s face, scrutinizing his reactions. 

Atsumu frowns, brings the hand closer to his eyes to inspect the supposed wound, makes a weirded out expression as he thoroughly searches for something that’s obviously not there anymore.

He glances at Kiyoomi after a time, searching for clues, seeking a reaction or an explanation. After a time, Kiyoomi retrieves his hand silently, takes the clean rag and dips it in the nearest water bucket. Under Atsumu’s insistent gaze, he thoroughly cleans his hand of any traces of blood until it appears unsoiled again. 

Then, he takes a deep breath and lifts his digits in front of Atsumu again, giving him the time to look at it, eyes widening in surprise and mouth hung open in disbelief. 

“Please, don’t freak out.” Kiyoomi starts, still not sure where to begin. 

“Omi-omi, didja really cut yerself?” Atsumu asks, hesitation and bewilderment vivid in his tone.

“Yes, I did.” He looks around quickly. “It’s a long story, we should sit.”

And so, Kiyoomi tells him. He goes through everything meticulously, doesn’t forget any details on the way. He tells him about his immortality, about his specific powers. About his real age, the war he’s seen and survived to. About Atsumu, the one whose name belonged to before him. 

Atsumu sits silently for once and doesn’t interrupt him. He barely nods, his eyes crease something, his fingers drum against their small table.

When he is done, Atsumu stays still for a moment, seemingly processing everything he’s been told. Kiyoomi can only understand how he feels; he’s been through it as well. Yet, for once, he finds the silence unbearable. He craves for something, anything, a word, a rejection, even a laugh, and each passing second drives him a little crazier with tremendous possibilities, all worse than the other.

Eventually, Atsumu opens his mouth. “Woh, that’s, huh, lots to take in.” He nods, mostly to himself. “But that’s huge, omi-omi!” Nods, again. His lips twitch upwards and Kiyoomi finds the sight reassuring and worrying at the same time. “‘Means yer invincible, pretty dope if ya tell me.”

Kiyoomi gauges him a little, not relieved for the slightest. “Atsumu.” He moves his chair closer and takes Atsumu’s hand between his, bringing them to his mouth. “I don’t age.”

“Yeah, ‘figured out.” Atsumu winces. “‘Thought I was the one with a problem here, aging too fast compared to ya. Yer still so good-lookin’ and I’m-”

“You’re perfectly fine as you are.” Atsumu beams at the compliment. “Quit fetching for compliments.” He rolls his eyes. “That’s not the point anyway.” A pause. “The thing is, I will have to leave this town, sooner or later. I can’t have anyone around know about it.”

Atsumu’s face lights up in understanding, mouth opening wide. As if everything suddenly clicked together. “‘Kay.” 

It’s Kiyoomi’s turn to have his eyes crease in caution, his heart drumming painfully in his chest. “You have to be more explicit here, Atsumu.” He answers, drier than he intended. 

Atsumu tilts his head to the right. “Well, ‘kay for leaving. When d’ya wanna leave? ‘Think we can sell that house for a good sum of money if ya ask me.” He rubs his fingers against his chin, lost in thoughts. “Yeah, we shouldn’t wait too much if we wanna head somewhere else before winter hits.” Kiyoomi’s frown deepens and Atsumu looks at him, arching an eyebrow. “Omi-kun, we already discussed not frowning so much, it’s bad for yer skin.” 

“Atsumu, what the hell are you talking about?” Kiyoomi retorts, ignoring the last comment for his own sake. “You’re not coming wit-”

“What? Of course I’m comin’ with ya!” Atsumu scowls. “Ya can’t leave me there.”

“You can’t leave your brother.”

“‘Sum’ll be perfectly fine without me. I’ll still come back to visit him, don’t worry ‘bout that.”

Kiyoomi shakes his head, stands up. “I can’t ask you to sacrifice your life here.”

“Good, didn’t hear ya askin’ anyway.” Atsumu straightens up as well and takes a step towards his lover. “Yer ain’t forcin’ me to sacrifice anythin’, omi. I-” He stops, inhales. “I ain’t gonna be able to live if yer not there with me.” He takes a pause, a shadow dropping over his face, worry overtaking his beautiful features. He goes on, softer “Ya don’t plan on abandonin’ me there, right?” 

“No, of course not.” Kiyoomi rebuffs. 

He didn’t spend so many years craving his presence just to leave him first thing in the morning. 

Kiyoomi opens his mouth but closes it immediately after. The words die at the back of his throat, certainly for the better.

 _I don’t want to see you die_. 

Somehow, Atsumu understands. He always does and Kiyoomi knows because the wrinkles around his eyes soften and his mouth curves slightly upwards, warming his insides with an intensity that never fails to leave him breathless. 

Atsumu is his anchor to the world, the one he needs to survive out there. There’s no need to think about what he’ll do when Atsumu vanishes from his world, simply because he can’t think of anything. A blank space, a dark horizon, a void. 

Atsumu crosses the small distance between them, takes Kiyoomi’s face between his hands, brushing each side delicately with his thumbs while looking at him, devotion and adoration laid bare in his gaze. 

“I’ll always be there with ya, omi-omi. Don’t ya dare worry ‘bout that right now.”

Kiyoomi feels on the verge of crying. Instead, he leans down and kisses the breath out of Atsumu, one hand wandering through his disheveled hair while the other grabs his waist and brings their bodies closer until they rub against each other.

He kisses him again and again, wet and needy. He kisses as if his life depended on it, preaching words of adoration against the fevered skin and leaving marks of his reverent travel down his body. He doesn’t stop, never stops, even when Atsumu is moaning and rutting beneath him; even in the aftermath of their lovemaking when they’re both spent and catching their breaths; even when they fell asleep, as intertwined as always.

Kiyoomi never stops worshipping what he’s been granted. He’s learnt a long time ago that life is too short to spend a minute without offering Atsumu what he truly deserves and nothing less. 

He falls asleep kissing the spot between his shoulder blades, head nestled in his back. He wakes up kissing the soft lips he cherishes far more than anything else.

Wherever they go, whatever they do, whenever they end up being apart; all of this doesn’t matter for now.

As long as Atsumu still lays there with him at dawn, Kiyoomi knows he’ll be fine.

###

Atsumu doesn’t get to lay by his side for much longer.

They move out to town, a little further West. They find a small house perched between fields and the forest, not far away from a village but isolated enough to be in peace. Their age difference is starting to show too much for Kiyoomi’s own liking.

At the beginning, Atsumu is the one who goes to the village for necessary purchases. He loves to pretend that he hates people and doesn’t need anyone else but Kiyoomi in his life, but Kiyoomi knows better than to deprive him of the much essential contact with the outside world. It also gives him an opportunity to hear him complain for hours about all the people he met and to show off about the great deals he managed to get through his smooth-talking. 

When Atsumu kisses him goodbye for the day, Kiyoomi likes to imagine the face of sheer terror commercants are going to make when they see him arrive. Truly, there’s no reason as to why he should keep his insufferable boyfriend to himself while he can annoy the shit out of everyone else.

Meanwhile, Kiyoomi spends most of his days setting up their garden and taking care of it. His numerous years of experience in the rice fields prove handy to their everyday life and the manual work helps ease his mind and preserve his body.

One day, Osamu tells them they look “ _grossly domestic_ ”. He’s visiting with two of his children for a few days and Atsumu beams at their arrival. It takes around ten minutes for them to come at each other’s throat while Kiyoomi is outside showing the littles ones how to properly water the vegetables, and he thinks that they truly made progress over the years.

 _Over the years_.

“He looks far happier there.” Osamu tells him one day. They’re both in the kitchen while Atsumu plays with the children outside, the three of them wrestling in the mud. Kiyoomi winces at the sight through the window, already dreading when he’ll have to wash the clothes. 

Then, his gaze lingers on Atsumu giggling as he’s attacked by the two monsters and his features soften. “You know, he told me that he hated kids.”

“Yeah right, as if yer still listenin’ to his bullshit.” He feels Osamu’s burning gaze through his skull. He noticed the problem with Kiyoomi’s appearance a long time ago, after all.

Kiyoomi nods absentmindedly, unable to peel off his gaze from the delighted face.

At night, he tries to not dwell too much on the fact that he may have deprived Atsumu of a life with his own kids. 

They’re both thoroughly exhausted when Osamu leaves and devotes the next few days only to each other, entangled in the other’s embrace, not doing much apart from soft kisses and tender touches. 

However, Atsumu never recovers fully from the exhaustion. On the contrary, his health rapidly deteriorates and he spends most of his days lying in bed, painfully coughing and sweating. Kiyoomi only leaves his side when he has to prepare dinner or to change the wet rag that rests on Atsumu’s forehead. He’s stopped sleeping, only allowing himself to doze off when Atsumu’s temperature doesn’t kick off as much.

He hates it. He truly hates feeling weak and helpless, wishing nothing more than the ability to heal him. He’d trade all his powers just to allow Atsumu a few more years. He can’t have him leave, not right now, not so fast, not when it feels like he just found him. 

All those years he confronted alone, only to be rewarded with such little time by his side. 

“Atsumu...” Kiyoomi whispers, quivering fingers trailing down his sweating cheek while his other hand is holding Atsumu under the sheets. He’s barely been able to open his eyes today. _Don’t leave me, please don’t leave._ The words die in his throat. 

A few rough, painful coughs echo in the air before Atsumu’s ragged breath becomes more audible. “Omi-omi-”

"Don't speak, please." _Stop speaking._ Kiyoomi’s chest tightens painfully.

Atsumu struggles to open one eye, the ghost of his signature smile embellishing his pale face.

"If I don't speak, yer-yer gonna be bored."

Kiyoomi shakes his head as his hand trails down from his face to his hair, fingers entangling through the blonde strands. “You can never bore me.” He fights the tears that threaten the corners of his eyes.

He hears Atsumu’s weak laughter, between two deep coughs. One of them leaves a trail of blood dripping on his chin and Kiyoomi wipes it off immediately. 

The sight is barely tolerable, and yet he doesn’t look away. He can’t do anything else but stay there and bear with it for his sake.

“Hey, ‘mi-kun.” Atsumu manages to turn his head a little toward Kiyoomi, to anchor his gaze into his. He doesn’t have the strength to tighten his grip around Kiyoomi’s interlaced fingers but he feels it try anyway. “D’ya think we’ll meet again?”

Kiyoomi’s eyes widen slightly. “I don’t know. I don’t know how-” he feels his voice going high and abruptly stops himself, taking the time to hide his overwhelming distress. “I don’t know how it works.”

“Don’t worry. ‘M sure we’ll meet again.” 

“How can you be so sure?” _How can you always be so confident? I can’t do this without you, I can’t._

“Told ya-” Another cough, another trail of blood. “‘Can’t live without ya. Next me’ll be miserable if yer ain’t here.” 

“Atsumu, I can’t do this.”

“Shhh, ‘gonna be okay.” Atsumu eyelids look heavier. “Just wait for me please.” Kiyoomi nods, weakly. “An’ don’t be too harsh if I’m still stupidly in love with ya-” Another cough. “Just can’t help it.”

Kiyoomi nods again, a little more fervent this time. He anchors his gaze into those half-lidded brown eyes, shaken by the thought it may be the last time he sees them. He bends down and rests his forehead against Atsumu’s, closes his eyes. "I'll find you again. I promise I will, don’t worry about it.”

Atsumu succumbs to sleep minutes after, a peaceful expression on his livid face.

He never wakes up. 

Kiyoomi cries, bangs his head against the floor, yells his hatred at the whole world. He just wishes it could end right here, supplicates whoever is in charge to put an end to his agony, to let him die along with Atsumu this time.

He doesn’t need to verify to know his prayers end up unheard. 

Once again, he’s left alone, his devastating grief for sole companion.

**\- 1743 -**

Life would be much simpler if Kiyoomi cared for people. He would have found a purpose in his immortality, joined the two unhinged fellow immortals and helped around him. He would have gone to bed every night feeling like he deserved to live, delighted to have accomplished something and already set on the next goal.

If Atsumu were to hear that, he would laugh at him, brush away the thought with his sarcasm, say people don’t deserve that much dedication anyway. They never discussed the extent of his abilities after he told him about it. After all, Atsumu knew better than to rub salt in the wound. He didn’t need a full explanation to realize how much Kiyoomi actually despised all of _this_ , wished it had never happened in the first place.

Atsumu knew him better than anyone. 

“ _Think ‘bout yerself first, omi-omi. Ain’t because yer invincible that ya can’t get injured anyway_.”

He loses count of the years at some point. Every landscape, every town, every field; it all looks the same to him. All plain and devoid of any interest.

The only thing that makes him keep going is his sheer will to find Atsumu again. He travels from town to town, never stopping more than necessary, searches for a familiar face in every bystander. The hallucinations don’t make it easier, far from it, but he’s learnt to ignore them after a while. They never leave, but they become a little more bearable. 

Kiyoomi promised Atsumu he’ll find him and he uses his promise to get back on his feet every time he feels on the verge of giving up. He has to be somewhere in this country, maybe somewhere he hasn’t gone to yet, or somewhere he’s too familiar to come back to. 

A mop of blonde hair, wicked grin and playful eyes. Wherever he strays, Kiyoomi will follow.

###

When he finds Atsumu again, it’s where he least expects him to be.

He’s already gone to Kyoto multiple times over the years. The city is too big for anyone to recognize him and holds so many people it would only be natural for Atsumu to be there as well.

The problem is, there are far _too many_ people for Kiyoomi’s liking. And to make it worse, it seems like he picked the worst day of the year to set foot inside the city. 

As time goes by, he’s come to hate crowds more and more, favoring quiet places and endless crop fields instead. As such, stepping in the middle of a yearly celebration in the presence of the Emperor himself isn’t the smartest thing he could have done.

He’s barely out on the street and already exhausted. Still, he inhales deeply and gets himself going, already thinking about his next trip down the country tomorrow morning.

Kiyoomi manages to make his way through the crowd, no without difficulty, gritting his teeth and rolling his eyes. He bypasses most people, casts sideways glances at most of them while finding his way through the gardens at the center of the city. He’s far too focused on his task to notice the effervescence of the crowd around him, until he realizes the concentration of people makes moving almost impossible.

A loud bang brings him back to Earth quickly and that’s when he notices the huge, imposing monument that stands only a few meters away.

The Kyoto Imperial Palace. 

Another loud bang resonates through the whole garden and everyone stills at once, turning in unison towards the wide entrance gates. 

A heavy, deathly silence fills the entire place as the gates slowly open. 

Kiyoomi manages to take a few steps on his right to see exactly what’s happening, gauging all bystanders at the same time to make sure Atsumu isn’t among them. He curses himself for taking that shortcut, not realizing the Emperor was eventually going to make an appearance. 

In all those years of immortality, it’ll actually be his first time witnessing such an event, so Kiyoomi can’t help but show some curiosity. His gaze sweeps through the people who make their way out of the gates. He has no trouble recognizing the Emperor and his family in the middle, dressed in official clothes, as they’re surrounded by a dozen heavily-armed men. 

He shifts his attention from one guard to another, lingers a little more on the Emperor, his wife, and finally stops on the smaller form that stands at their right. Their son, without a doubt.

Kiyoomi's eyes widen at once, mouth opening, body freezing.

He stares at the boy standing proudly next to their Emperor, face all too recognizable despite the distance between them, and Kiyoomi doesn’t doubt for a second that it’s him, once again. 

Kiyoomi wouldn't give him more than thirteen years old. A mere child, holding the hand of his mother and looking curiously at the crowd, already standing proud. He's never seen him looking this young and _vulnerable_ , and now Kiyoomi wants nothing more than to protect him. He's fought enough in his entire lifetime to know that those guards are here more to discourage anyone from attempting a move than anything else. Should there be a murder attempt, they wouldn't be of a great help.

Kikyoomi’s eyes stay glued to Atsumu’s lithe form through the whole appearance. Something in his mind clicked the moment he saw him step outside those gates, realization hitting him like thunder. He didn’t feel the need to question it, to ascertain it was indeed Atsumu. 

He didn’t doubt for a second, as if it was always meant to be, somehow. 

The boy appears overly curious, standing straight and bumping his chest. He gazes through the crowd, trying to stay as stern as possible even though Kiyoomi can easily decipher the threat of a wry smile at the corner of his mouth. Or maybe he just imagines it because he’s been with Atsumu far enough to just _know_ how he would act. 

The appearance of the imperial family only lasts for a few minutes and it’s enough to convince Kiyoomi of what he needs to do. As the gates close behind the small form, Kiyoomi backtracks and returns to the inn immediately, still overwhelmed by the sudden finding, his body burning and his mind buzzing.

He sits on his futon, runs a hand through his hair, exhales slowly to calm his flying heartbeat and appease his nerves a little. 

Atsumu is there, alive and well. Almost within reach.

He casts a glance at the corner of his room, where Atsumu’s katana stands proudly against the wall. Just aside, an old, outdated kimono is neatly folded. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t know how to act on it yet but he’s sure of one thing: he isn’t leaving tomorrow.

###

Three years later, Koyoomi officially becomes part of the Emperor's son's personal guard.

During those years, they crossed paths only once or twice, while Kiyoomi was guarding the gates or patrolling through the place, and he isn’t sure Atsumu ever purposefully laid eyes on him.

Their first official meeting is short and polite. Well, as polite as Atsumu can be.

They’re introduced to each other outside one of the official buildings, in a private garden that immediately gives on the Imperial Study. He’s been waiting for the Prince’s arrival for half an hour, standing straight and forbidden to move, when the gates open. Finally, Atsumu Miya steps outside on the pavillon.

Kiyoomi immediately bows, not allowing himself enough time to look at him. His head is low and his eyes are set on the ground and he listens to the ruffle of clothes trailing down and the leisurely steps hitting the wooden slats that lead to where he’s standing. 

A set of flamboyant robes enters his field of vision from afar. Red and gold fabrics spreading out profusely onto the ground. The Prince is known for liking long, ostentatious _haoris_ that are dragging on around his feet. This time is no exception.

The voice of the intendant standing at the Atsumu’s left resonates amidst the trees. "Your Highness, I have been granted the privilege to present you the newest member of your personal guard. Starting today, commandant Sakusa Kiyoomi is assigned to your one and only protection." 

Kiyoomi can feel the heavy stare burning through him. He doesn’t need to lift his head to know what Atsumu’s face looks like now, stern in appearance if it isn’t for the slight, wry smile at the corner of his mouth. Over the years, the Prince traded his childish joy for something more devilish, more akin to how Kiyoomi knows him to be. 

“Nice to meet ya, Kiyoomi-kun!” Atsumu finally says. The sweet, light-toned voice sends a shiver to Kiyoomi’s spine. “No need to bow like that, I ain’t the Emperor yet.” 

Kiyoomi avoids thinking about how his insides churn and his heart drums incredibly fast hearing that delightful voice and being allowed to stand this close to him. He’ll have all the time in the world to dwell on the fact that he finally managed to achieve his objective later. 

He straightens, his tall and broad frame contrasting with the small, not-yet matured form of the man standing in front of him. 

The Prince is not yet sixteen, yet he’s already considered a man by society. 

Kiyoomi can only see the round cheeks and the small, not totally formed faucet. 

He’s so young, so freaking young.

_They weren’t fifteen yet, when they met back then. Children, nothing more._

Atsumu, not bothered for the least by the size difference, lifts his head proudly to stare straight into Kiyoomi’s eyes. His mouth stirs slowly into a devilish grin, eyes creasing in mischief. “So, got a nickname already or shoul’ I gifta one?” 

Kiyoomi’s gaze stays anchored into Atsumu’s brown pupils. He should know better than to uphold this stare, an act that might look disrespectful. Yet, he finds himself unable to look away. Not when he spends all this time craving for this exact moment. "I do not yet hold one, your Highness."

"How do yer friends call ya?" A beat. "How would ya want me to call ya ?"

"... Kiyoomi-kun will suffice, your Highness."

The Prince shakes his head. "Nah, too borin’." He tilts his head to the right, looking straight into his core, his smile transforming into something borderline _predatory_ , "and, just so ya know, I don't like borin’." 

Kiyoomi swallows, stays still. Holds the gaze and doesn’t blink.

Seemingly satisfied, Atsumu turns around and makes a move towards his personal guard and servants to head back first. They all start heading towards his personal residence. 

Kiyoomi bows again until he thinks Atsumu out of sight. However, when he straightens and looks out for any sign of the Prince, he finds him still glancing at him from over his shoulder, body framed between the sliding doors. 

"See ya soon, Kiyoomi-kun." He singsongs, and the servants slide the doors closed just afterward.

Kiyoomi waits until he’s out of sight to exhale distressingly, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding since his gaze was snatched away by those mesmerizing eyes. 

He breathes, closes his eyes, and realizes this situation might prove itself to be more difficult than he thought.

###

Atsumu’s childish side has always been an inherent part of his personality. As such, Kiyoomi shouldn’t be surprised to meet everyday with a spoiled, unhinged brat.

It doesn’t make it any less difficult.

Truth is, being part of the Prince's guard isn't a difficult job in itself. During the months that follow Kiyoomi's accession to his personal protection, everything goes as it should. Right now, all stares are turned towards the daimyo.

Still, even though there's no opportunity for him to draw his sword, it doesn’t mean Kiyoomi lives a peaceful life devoid of any problem. 

Because Atsumu _is_ a problem. One hell of a problem.

Kiyoomi blames it both on the youth and the wealth. There can be no other plausible explanation as to why someone who has always had a somewhat bothersome presence but managed to keep it under a radar, has suddenly become an utter pain-in-the-ass in another life. 

That, and the fact that he’s been raised as an only son from an early age, his twin brother having died a few days after birth. 

“That’s not really nice of ya to spy on me, omi-omi!” Atsumu pouts, putting the sleeve of his kimono in front of the mirror. In his reflection, his eyes dart unhappily towards Kiyoomi’s silhouette standing behind him inside his private chambers. 

“I was only fulfilling my duty, your Highness.” Kiyoomi has one hand placed against the pommel of his katana, and the other carefully placed behind his back. “I must remind your Highness that he’s not allowed to sneak through the window past evening.”

Atsumu grumbles, rolls his eyes. “Ya didn’t need to tell my father. Now he's real angry with me."

Kiyoomi, through the mirror reflection, watches Atsumu struggle with his obi, not used to dressing on his own. 

Well, he only has himself to blame for coming back _enraged_ from his father's scolding and dismissing every servant as soon as he’d stepped through the doors or his private residence, expressing that only Kiyoomi’s presence was requested.

Kiyoomi's fingers twitch against the cold metal, but he suppresses the urge to come closer and actually help him. 

It's not his place to do so.

"It was only expected of me to act as such." 

Atsumu isn't looking at him anymore, too focused on trying to tie his obi in a satisfying way. It doesn’t seem to be working considering how the piece of cloth ends up being thrown across the room not two minutes later. Atsumu curses below his breath, gives up and angrily sits on his bed. From his standpoint, Kiyoomi can only see his hunched shoulders and stiffened body.

A moment passes. 

Kiyoomi closes his eyes, represses the urge to press the ridge of his nose in annoyance.

_I wish Osamu was there._

He finally makes a move and goes to retrieve the unfortunate obi, against his better judgement. Then, he walks towards the bed and stops in front of Atsumu's slumped form, head down and tight fists on his knees.

They stay like this for a few seconds until Atsumu hesitantly lifts his head, quickly eying Kiyoomi before casting his glance away, a faint blush spreading on his cheeks. 

He seems ashamed of his childish attitude.

Ashamed and upset.

"Your Highness needs to be properly dressed for today's ceremony." Kiyoomi states as sternly as possible. 

Atsumu chews the inside of his mouth for a second. Then, he gets up without a word, and lifts his arms up in the air, gaze still fleeting. Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow,searching for any hint about what to do on that stubborn face. 

He finds none.

So, that's how it's going to be.

Slowly, Kiyoomi passes the piece of cloth around Atsumu’s slim waist, keeping both ends at the front. He ties it with utter carefulness, trying not to think about how close the Prince is right now. 

"I just…" Atsumu starts again, hesitant, his voice stripped of the usual mischief. Kiyoomi stubbornly focuses on the task at hand, wishing he would have the courage to go faster. Wishing he wasn't purposely slow for the sake of those few precious minutes of proximity. "I'm almost eighteen an' I've never been outside, omi-kun. I'm bored. It's fucking _borin'_ here."

"His Highness has had multiple occasions to visit the city." Kiyoomi corrects him.

Atsumu gives Kiyoomi a _look_ he can feel piercing through his skull.

"'Don't like it when ya play dumb, omi-omi." Hearing that nickname doesn't make Kiyoomi's mouth twitch anymore. "I just wanna go through the city without a hoard of people watchin' my each an' every move. Just see what there's to see for a few hours, nothin' more."

"His Highness cannot put his life in jeopardy like this."

"Nobody would recognize me!"

"His Highness can never be certain of that. It is far too dangerous." 

"I don't afta go alone! Ya can come with me if yer worried."

"His Highn-"

"Stop repeatin' the same thing ! An’ look at me when yer talkin’!" Atsumu snaps, tone unnerving. Kiyoomi stays still, hands gripping firmly the bow, realizing he certainly tightened the obi too much around the Prince's waist.

After a time, which feels like an eternity, he lifts his gaze and meets Atsumu’s. Meets the brown pupils filled with anger and nervousness. 

Atsumu speaks again after a few seconds, voice softer. Almost a murmur compared to just before. "I don't like it either when you act like lookin' at me is something ya forbid yerself to do."

Kiyoomi swallows, feels like someone just punched right in the guts. 

A touch hovers over his hands that are still gripping the fabrics. He sweeps his glance towards them, finding them covered with a gentle brush of skin against skin, slender fingers caressing his rough, eternal skin, and delicately closing around his wrists.

Kiyoomi’s eyes settle on Atsumu once again. Atsumu is still looking at him, sparkles of pain and disappointment shining.

"... Your life is far too valuable." Kiyoomi starts eventually, staring straight into Atsumu's eyes. "If something were to happen to you, I would never forgive myself."

He reads the word on his lips before it reaches his ears. "Why?" 

He curses himself for even looking at those lips.

"... Your Highness knows why." Kiyoomi answers, expression blank. "I have been ordered to keep you safe and shall fulfill my duty as such." 

Atsumu looks at him, and then he isn’t. He casts his glance sideways in defeat, his lips curling into a sad, bitter smile. 

"... An’ that's all that matters to ya, huh." 

The atmosphere shifts, becomes cold and dreading. Seconds after, the delicate touch covering his hands is gone, as if it was never meant to be in the first place. Kiyoomi takes the sudden glacial stare as an indication that he needs to step back, and he does so without another word. 

He wishes he could have said otherwise. Wishes he could have laid the truth bare in front of him, said he cherished his well-being above everything else, poured all his devotion into his words and actions.

But he can't. At least not in this lifetime.

###

They don't talk about it again. 

To be precise, they don't talk much for the next few weeks.

The capital is holding festivities for Atsumu's eighteenth birthday and the Prince has to prepare himself for the annual ceremony. If he is bothered by any of it, he doesn't show it publicly at least and makes all proper efforts to appear happy and content. Kiyoomi wonders if it’s a sign of maturity or if he’s simply too tired to do otherwise.

However, as soon as they're alone, as soon as Kiyoomi escorts him back to his private residence, the atmosphere immediately grows cold. Atsumu's smile fades, a deep scowl appearing instead as he stubbornly refuses to look at Kiyoomi along the way.

_Ya need to stop frownin' so much omi-omi, or ya'll end up with wrinkles for life._

A ghostly laugh buzzs close to his ears.

Truth is, Kiyoomi doesn't get used to it. He thought he could at first. He thought that standing by Atsumu’s side was enough for him. He thought he’d come to terms with it, after cursing whatever had been in charge of that whole shitshow from the beginning for only allowing him Atsumu’s presence but depriving him of anything else.

His heart, his body, his intimacy. 

However, every time Atsumu ignores him, his insides constrict painfully and his breath itches in his throat. 

He can’t imagine a life by Atsumu's side that will only consist of cold stares and harsh orders, of austerity and anger. 

Not when he’s finally found him. Not after all those years searching, hoping, _yearning_.

Not when he doesn’t know when it'll be over, and when he'll be able to see him again.

Kiyoomi has to make it right and that’s how he ends up scheduling something in secret.

The sun has stepped down for a while now, overthrown by the moonlight and stars shining amidst the dark sky. As usual, Kiyoomi escorts the Prince back to his private chambers after dinner. As usual, Atsumu doesn’t grant him a single look during the walk, staring stubbornly straight ahead, and Kiyoomi only looks at his slender back.

Atsumu stops in front of his doors, waits for a few seconds before splitting them apart, just enough for him to enter. His gaze is transfixed on the latticed wooden frame, hands grabbing the wooden-carved handle.

Kiyoomi takes it as a sign. "... Your Highness-" 

"Good night." Atsumu cuts him off, already disappearing inside the room before he slides the panels with more force than necessary, making the nearest servants flinch at the loud _bang_.

Well, it was only to be expected. Plan B it is then.

Kiyoomi gets out of the residence and walks around it sneakily, body half-shrunk and hidden by all the bushes surrounding the property. A few minutes later, he stops under the huge window from Atsumu's bedchambers.

Kiyoomi looks around him and picks the nearest rock. After making sure no one's around, he leans back a little and throws it at the window. 

It only takes a few seconds for Atsumu to open the window. Of course, he wasn't sleeping. 

Atsumu looks around furiously in search of the culprit, before casting his gaze downward and immediately noticing Kiyoomi crouched between two bushes. Even from below and plunged in the darkness, Kiyoomi can see his eyes widen and his eyebrows furrow in incomprehension.

Kiyoomi doesn't say anything, only notifies him of his intentions by making a movement with his hand to ask him to come along.

Atsumu looks conflicted for a few seconds, glance sweeping between Kiyoomi and their surroundings. Then, he gets back into his chamber without closing the window. Kiyoomi waits until the Prince appears again at the ledge a few minutes later, fully clothed and wearing the cloak he already used once, when he tried to sneak out. 

The Emperor thought the servants had gotten rid of the cloth after the incident since they couldn't find it anywhere but, to Kiyoomi absolute delight, Atsumu outsmarted everyone there.

He expected no less of him. He was, after all, the most intelligent, most mischievous, most amazing. 

Atsumu looks doubtful about the whole situation, his mouth twitched into a pout. Still, he goes over the border of the window and lands smoothly on his feet near Kiyoomi.

As soon as their gazes meet again, closer this time, Kiyoomi opens his mouth, but Atsumu beats him to it.

"So, where are we goin'?" He whispers with his lazy grin and his batting eyelashes and Kiyoomi knows he doesn't need to explain anymore. 

Knowing Atsumu’s resentful personality, it doesn't mean all is forgotten. But they can pretend for at least one night that nothing has ever happened.

"I am to guide your Highness through the capital tonight." Kiyoomi answers. 

"I feel so honored to have you as my personal guide, omi-omi." Atsumu singsongs.

Kiyoomi's mouth tickles, a threat of a smile he manages to suppress. It’s been so long since his insides felt so warm.

Getting out of the Imperial Palace proves to be challenging but nothing impossible for Kiyoomi. He knows the patrol patterns hy heart and they manage to avoid all guards before having to climb over the outside walls surrounding the whole property. Thankfully, Kiyoomi had planned everything beforehand and finding the rope he’s placed during the day is an easy task.

Kiyoomi leads the Prince to the heart of the capital. It's still quite early in the evening, and the main streets are busy, filled with people walking around and various stalls lightening up the arteries. 

Atsumu had made sure to cover his face with the hood as soon as they’d left the Palace and he remains careful as they descend the main avenue. Kiyoomi stands close to him, scrutinizing every person that bypasses them, so focused on his duty to protect the Prince he doesn’t realize how close they are to each other, so close their arms often happen to brush against each other. 

Or maybe it’s because he’s been so used to it in another life that it only feels natural.

Atsumu is mesmerized by all the simple things. When Kiyoomi takes a second to look at him and check he’s still keeping his hood on, he’s met with big brown eyes excitingly sweeping through one point to another, a big delighted grin going along. 

Atsumu’s always been beautiful, tremendously _beautiful_ ; and Kiyoomi commits this sight to memory as he’s done for so many others over the years they shared together. He already knows he’ll still remember that day one hundred years from now on.

They stroll around for some time. Kiyoomi always makes sure to have Atsumu stay within range, hand ready to grab his arm if the Prince suddenly decides to wander off somewhere. But, unexpectedly, Atsumu behaves and stays as close as possible to his personal guard. When something on a stall catches his interest, he just tugs at Kiyoomi's sleeve a little and the latter follows him while carefully gauging around.

Something -or more like someone- bumps into Atsumu minutes later, and Kiyoomi is on the verge of drawing the katana half-hidden under his haori before realizing at the last moment that the apparent threat is only a child that was running off in the opposite direction. 

The child, who barely reaches Atsumu's waist, nearly falls back due to the abrupt shock. Thankfully, Atsumu catches him just in time.

"Sorry Sir." The little boy mumbles.

" 's okay, don't worry." Atsumu answers him with a smile and the child goes off running again after offering a bow in apology. 

Kiyoomi catches Atsumu's warm lingering gaze on the small form that disappears in the middle of the crowd. There's nothing weird about that; after all Atsumu's always been good with children. 

He liked to pretend he hated them, yet still loved nothing more than playing with his nephews.

“Omi-omi!” Atsumu turns around to look at him, trying his best to whisper in spite of his palpable excitement. "Can we go see this one please?"

Kiyoomi follows Atsumu’s finger to one of the stalls at their right, where a bunch of people are gathered. Kiyoomi sweeps his gaze through the crowd, then casts a glance at Atsumu whose attention has already been snatched away again. 

He tugs at his sleeve. The gesture is so simple and mechanical, yet it brings back fond memories that linger at the back of his mind. 

Well, he's never been able to deny him anything to begin with.

They get closer, Kiyoomi stepping closer to the Prince in the process. Thankfully, a couple leaves the front of the street vendor’s display as they arrive.

The table is filled with shiny jewelry of all sorts and colors. Having spent a great amount of time inside the imperial palace, Kiyoomi notices immediately that those jewels aren’t of the foremost quality. They're nice enough for common folks, but someone like Atsumu Miya deserves nothing but the most outstanding and esteemed ornaments.

But Atsumu seems fascinated by those, sparkles of joy visible in his brown pupils as his gaze sweeps excitingly through the display. Kiyoomi didn't take him for the type to like jewels, but they never had the opportunity to thoroughly discuss it before. Back in their small town, Atsumu was in charge of the groceries and, anyway, they didn’t have enough money to afford something like this.

He doesn’t remember having seen Atsumu wearing some jewels for his own pleasure, outside of ceremonies or official meetings; but he can’t deny it would certainly look good on him.

Kiyoomi follows Atsumu’s gaze and looks at the gold bracelets that are dispatched nicely in front of them, each one embedded with a gemstone of a different color. He studies Atsumu’s expressions closely, looking at how his features soften and his eyes lighten up with need for a few seconds, before his gaze trails off to another bunch of different jewels, little rings and ostentatious earrings on the left. 

Kiyoomi glances at the vendor. 

“Good evening. I would like this one, please.” 

He points at the gold bracelet with a red gemstone embedded, not bothering to hide his purchase from Atsumu, but making sure to not cross his surprised gaze. He gives a pouch of gold and gets the jewelry in return and puts it in his pocket. 

When he finally has the courage to look at Atsumu, he finds him looking back with an undescriptable expression. 

Surprise. Maybe pain, or disappointment. 

“Who’s the lucky girl?” Atsumu asks, too cheerfully to be honest, as they leave the stall and go back to the main avenue. 

“No one.” Kiyoomi answers promptly.

“Naaah, don’t believe ya. Ya ain’t the type to buy nice stuff like this for yerself, omi-omi.” A pause. The voice softens. “Do I know her?”

“... Maybe.” 

He wonders why he’s giving in. Or why he’s trying to fight it in the first place. Kiyoomi’s already learnt once that there’s no point in denying what he feels, still he pretends that the situation is good as it is. Pretends it’s _enough,_ to be a bystander of his own story _._

Atsumu doesn’t answer immediately. “... Must be nice, to be allowed to fall in love with whoever ya want.”

The next breath stays stuck in his throat. His body screams to look at him and just spill it, but his eyes stay stubbornly focused on the paving stone. 

Not this time, Kiyoomi.

"We should head back to the palace." Kiyoomi says some time after.

He expects Atsumu to fight this off, to ask for a delay, to beg him to dip a little further into the city. Yet, he doesn't do any of these things. From the corner of his eye, Kiyoomi watches him nod, almost absentmindedly, as he whispers a weakened, "Yeah, ok."

They head back to the palace without further delay. The trip back is silent and uncomfortable, painfully reminiscing of what the last weeks have felt like. Kiyoomi knows he's surely one to blame for the situation, as he lacks great honesty in the matter, but he doesn’t understand why Atsumu is being so stubborn and difficult. 

The truth wouldn’t do them any good. 

Kiyoomi manages to get them back inside the palace safely. The walk towards the Prince's private residence is uneventful, mostly quiet and tense.

As expected, no one is guarding Atsumu's bed chambers since it was supposedly Kiyoomi’s duty.

Kiyoomi brings Atsumu to the step of his door, carefully looking at his stubborn back. He expects nothing more than a harsh dismiss and a glacial stare; a painful reminder of how deteriorated their relationship has been over the last few weeks. 

Atsumu turns around to face him, a shadow obscuring his face. 

"Thank ya for the evening, omi-kun." He smiles, fakely. Doesn't even try to hide it. "I had a great time."

"I'm relieved to hear your Highness liked it." That's all Kiyoomi can say without betraying himself, as the bracelet burns in his pocket.

Since when did he become such a coward?

"... _Ne_ , omi-omi," Atsumu whispers after a time. He tilts his head to the right, and his smile becomes unshakably sad. "What would it take to have ya call me by my name?" 

Kiyoomi's heart drops inside his chest.

“Your Highness,” the title tastes bitter between his teeth. But it’s a constant reminder of _who_ Atsumu is right now. “you know I cannot do that.”

“Why couldn’t ya? Yer supposed to do what I want.” Atsumu almost sounds _desperate._ It shakens Kiyoomi to the core.

He looks around to make sure no one is listening to them. Then, he hears the wooden doors softly slide apart, and when his gaze falls again on Atsumu, the latter has taken a step inside his bedroom, burning a hole through his skull, expression contained and stare commanding. 

With a nod, he points towards the inside of his chambers, and Kiyoomi swallows with some difficulty.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.

“I can’t be seen getting out of your chambers during nighttime, your Highness.” Kiyoomi tries, voice strained. 

“Ya’ll just have to say I ordered ya to.” Atsumu answers, and Kiyoomi realizes it’s never been an invitation. However, Atsumu keeps betraying his strong, cold demeanor with a softer, almost pleading tone. “I just… I don’t want tonight to end just now, omi-omi.”

Kiyoomi knows what defeat feels like because he’s been through it more times than he wishes he had. He locks his gaze into Atsumu’s, watches him be afraid of seeing his personal guard just turn around and leave without another word. 

But Kiyoomi only bows his head slightly and then takes a step forward, followed by another, feeling burgeoning guilt that builds onto his shoulders crushing him as he gets closer to the Prince.

They step inside the bedroom. Kiyoomi closes the doors from behind, too busy watching each and every of Atsumu’s movements. He’s relieved to see they’re at least standing a few feet apart from each other. 

The Prince takes off his cloak, throws it on the bed, and turns around to face him, arms limp against his body.

“Ya wouldn’t lie to me, would ya, omi-omi?” Atsumu asks with a smile far too bitter for Kiyoomi’s liking.

“I wouldn’t dare to.” 

“Then, I just need ya to answer one question.” The second stretches in the air and Kiyoomi wishes time could stop at this moment. It doesn’t. “D’ya fancy me, omi-kun?”

Kiyoomi can pinpoint the exact moment he bowed in defeat and crossed the line. He shouldn’t have. He should have offended Atsumu by walking out of this mess before it could even begin. The punishment would have been severe, resulting in months, maybe years of frigid relationships. Maybe he would have been fired from the imperial palace, but at least he wouldn’t have to answer that precise question right now.

He inhales, shortly. Composes himself quickly enough.

“I cannot answer that question, your Highness.” He exhales a little, his gaze unwavering. His heartbeat smacks painfully against his ribcage. “The answer wouldn’t please you, nor would it be useful to either of us.”

Atsumu’s mouth twitches enough for Kiyoomi to notice it from afar. He takes a step towards him, slow and deliberate.

“Why didja accept to take me into town then?” 

“It was merely a birthday present.” He stubbornly ignores the burning bracelet on his left.

A pause.

“I know how ya look at me.” Atsumu resumes, tone strangely stern. “I’ve seen it. I know when yer lookin’, when ya think I’m too distracted to notice it. I know yer always watchin’ me, I know-”

“Your Highness, I’m only fulfi-”

“-I know because I look at ya the same way!” Atsumu clenches his fists, his eyebrows furrowing in displeasure.

Kiyoomi’s eyes widen, lips parting in surprise, unable to control his emotions for a few seconds. 

He isn’t exactly surprised because he knew, of course he couldn’t have not known. Atsumu was always watching him, always smiling at him, always getting closer to him for no other reason than the sheer desire of proximity. Atsumu’s tone was always playful, Atsumu’s attitude was often borderline flirtatious, Atsumu’s words bore meaning Kiyoomi easily understood.

Kiyoomi knew all of that because he let it happen, because he craved it and felt his heart melt and his insides warm at the familiar attitude.

Kiyoomi knew because Atsumu’s promise lingered at the back of his mind, always. 

Still, he didn’t think Atsumu would confess straight in front of him. He didn’t think of it, or more exactly, he turned a blind eye to it, purposely ignored how dangerous and unpredictable the situation was becoming. 

Atsumu had a straightforward personality, continuously disregarded the rules and nobody was there to beat the shit out of him when he started drifting too far. 

Kiyoomi had been a fool since the beginning, too engrossed in his own feelings to realize what was happening, and he could only blame himself for the result.

“I must apologize for saying this, but you forget yourself.” Kiyoomi answers, voice stern and expression closed, devoid of any emotion but the sheer will to end that conversation. “You are the Prince and future Emperor of our country, and I am nothing but a mere soldier.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Atsumu takes another step forward, bold and persistent as he is.

“Yes, it does.” Kiyoomi grits his teeth, hands held together behind his back. 

Atsumu looks so young, so innocent and determined, as if all of this was nothing but a stupid challenge they could easily overcome. As if being the Prince would give him the right to toss away what was bothering him; while his rank was the exact reason why all of this could never be in the first place.

“Ya fancy me as much as I do, omi-kun.” Atsumu’s tone is too soft, Atsumu’s body is too close. Kiyoomi could touch him if he only lifted his arm. It would be so simple. “We won’t have to tell anybody, it can be a secret between us.” 

Kiyoomi closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to reject that smile. 

An older Atsumu, coughing blood in his bed invades his mind. Smiling weakly, eying him adoringly, promising that he’ll always love him.

Making him promise to find him again, to indulge him.

He’s never despised himself more in this lifetime.

“We cannot do that.” He gathers all his strength to sound unyielding. “You are the prince, and I cannot be allowed to have this kind of relationship with you.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Ya know emperors and princes get to have tons of suitors and mistresses. Ya wouldn’t be breakin’ any rule.” More defiant, he adds. “Even when I’m married, it won’t be a problem, my father does it all the time and no one makes a fuss ‘bout it.” 

Kiyoomi shakes his head, trying to gather his thoughts against the relentless attempts. 

“I do not wish to have this kind of relationship with your Highness.” He croaks weakly.

“Yer lying. Ya told me ya wouldn’t be lying an’ yer doin’ it.” Atsumu snaps, betrayal visible in his eyes.

“No, I am not.” Kiyoomi locks his eyes onto Atsumu’s mouth, thin and displeased. “Favoring you and wishing to entertain an intimate relationship with you are two distinct things, and I am not lying by saying I do not wish to do so.”

A myriad of emotions come across Atsumu’s face. Realization, pain, anger, resentment, incomprehension. 

They all slap Kiyoomi raw and vivid.

“What if I ordered ya to?” It’s a mere whisper, and it holds absolutely no resolve. Kiyoomi could almost smile at this pitiful attempt to pretend if the situation wasn’t so saddening.

“You could never order me to do something like this.” Kiyoomi looks at him, and his mouth twitches upwards. “It’s not like you at all, Atsumu.”

The name slips beautifully on his tongue, crosses his lips and resonates in the chambers. It leaves them out of breath for a second, and Kiyoomi wonders if Atsumu is going to cross the distance between them and kiss him as he’s been wishing to for the whole time. Or, if Kiyoomi’s is finally going to surrender to his own needs and be the one to do it.

But no one moves. Atsumu’s eyes widen for an instant before creasing in anger.

“Get out.” The softness is gone, swept away.

Kiyoomi bows his head, acknowledging the words before he can fully process them. He turns on his heels and walks away, feeling somehow more ashamed than he thought he would. Once outside, he abruptly stops himself, realizing he still has to stay outside and effectively guard Atsumu’s chambers. 

Kiyoomi wonders, for a brief moment, what wrong it would do if he just turned around and decided nothing else mattered but the desire to feel those lips against his, to fervor this body with his hands, to lay aside and watch him sleep peacefully. 

How it would feel to forget himself amidst the crook of his neck only for a few hours, abandoning his duties as a soldier to pleasure him, leave him sweating, pantless and content. To not think, remember, _endure_. 

But he doesn’t. He just stands there until another soldier from the personal guard shows up and releases him of his duty.

In this lifetime, he’s never been allowed to hope or to wish for anything more than the right to stay by his side. To watch him grow, smile and laugh. To ascertain his rise to the throne, to indulge his anger and to protect his life. 

His heart and yearning held no place in this vicious equation to begin with, and what happened today doesn’t change anything. 

Kiyoomi made a promise a long time ago and, whatever comes in his way, he will fulfill his duty until Atsumu’s last breath. 

###

Atsumu is to marry at twenty. 

His fiancee is beautiful and young, and she seems wity enough for Atsumu’s liking. When they meet for the first time, Kiyoomi stands by Atsumu’s right side as he's been for the last few years. 

Not too close, but not too far.

As expected their relationship changed drastically after that night. Atsumu strongly resented him for rejecting him, and he didn’t bother hiding it. Nonetheless, he never tried to have Kiyoomi removed from his personal guard; or if he did, Kiyoomi never heard of it.

The distance that grew between them was easier to handle than Kiyoomi first thought. It forced him to confine himself to his rank and stop wishing for something that would never be.

Atsumu tried to bend his will in his own way during the first few weeks that followed that night, which wasn't unexpected coming from him. As such, Kiyoomi found himself witnessing servants entering his private chambers and leaving only one hour later, looking disheveled and pleased, fleeting gaze purposely avoiding Kiyoomi's.

This technique didn't bear fruits and Atsumu stopped quickly enough. 

He still took pleasure in having Kiyoomi attend the dressing ceremony each morning, sending long shivering stares or winking at him in the process. 

Atsumu also stopped that approach after Kiyoomi rolled his eyes so fast they nearly gauged out of their sockets. 

However, and that was more unexpected, Atsumu’s grudge and cold anger faded with time, giving way to something more cordial at first. Kiyoomi could feel the fragile and delicate trust Atsumu was once again putting in him. Slowly, he started to open again, asking his opinion on trivial matters and Kiyoomi always answered earnestly. 

They never talked about that night again. Atsumu understood Kiyoomi’s will would never falter; and Kiyoomi expected nothing less of his beloved. 

Progressively, their relationship became more friendly and intimate; and Kiyoomi was soon known as Atsumu’s most trusted confident and immuable shadow. Wherever the Prince went, Kiyoomi followed him, walked one steady step behind him, always ready to draw out his katana or cast a gloomy stare at whoever attempted to defy the Prince’s authority.

Rumors spread but they never indulged it. 

Kiyoomi had managed to find peace, a fragile equilibre he cherished above all. 

\---

Still, witnessing Atsumu prepare for his wedding proves itself to be something else and no amount of anticipation could have prepared him entirely.

Kiyoomi stands at his usual place, the one he preempted years ago. From there, he looks at all the servants fussing around helping Atsumu with his formal clothes. He looks absolutely breathtaking, bathing in a flamboyant orange _sokutai_ with fine golden silk embroidery on the large sleeves and front side. 

He catches Atsumu’s stare through the mirror reflection several times, enough to make the back of his neck itch with an emotion he’s thought he finally got rid of time ago. 

Yearning. _Desire._ The sheer will to stand by his side and not behind him for once. 

Do all those years really feel like it was enough, in the end?

When he’s done being dressed up, he hushes all the servants out. 

Once they’re alone, Atsumu turns around to face him completely. Kiyoomi inhales sharply at the exquisite sight, eyelids fluttering. 

“His Highness looks resplendent.” Short, to the point. 

“Thanks, omi-omi.” He smiles, so softly, so _fakely_ it pains Kiyoomi. “Would ya mind redoing my sash please? The servant did an awful job with it.”

They both know it isn’t true. And yet, Kiyoomi steps forwards until he stands right in front of the Prince. He lifts his hands, reaches around his waist, and delicately undoes the tie tying the sash in his back. Carefully, he moves the sash so he can tie it in front of Atsumu instead. He keeps his eyes solely focused on the task at hand, refusing to meet the Prince’s eyes. 

He feels Atsumu’s breath on his neck, Atsumu’s eyes on his shoulders, Atsumu’s fingers on his forearm caressing the skin. 

“ _Thank you_ , omi-omi.” Atsumu whispers, and those words hit Kiyoomi’s chest. “For stickin’ with me.”

“It’s an honor for me to stay by your side, your Highness.” Kiyoomi answers immediately, hands still around the sash, revering the cloth like they revered his body, in another lifetime.

“...Yer ain’t gonna leave me, right?”

“I would never.” He tightens the cloth around his body a little more. Atsumu’s hand brushes over his, slowly. “My life is yours to dispose of. It will always be.”

Atsumu lifts his head, and Kiyoomi meets his gaze, big brown eyes looking at him with warmth and delight.

“Until death tells us apart, omi-omi?” He breathes on Kiyoomi’s chin. He could kiss him, if he only bent down.

“... Till death do us part, your Highness.” Kiyoomi realizes he must be smiling a little because Atsumu’s eyes briefly flick towards his lips for an instant, and his smile only grows wider and more dazzling.

Once the bow is done, Kiyoomi’s arms drop on each side of his body, and Atsumu’s touch is gone, the ghost of a caress tingling the skin he was touching seconds before.

Atsumu is the one to move first, this time. He bypasses Kiyoomi and gets out of the bedroom, doesn’t look back, doesn’t wait for him to come because he just _knows._

The dark-haired man follows him straight after, one steady feet behind.

###

Atsumu Miya dies before he even has a chance of becoming Emperor.

Sudden illness strikes him fast and unpredictable, gloomily reminding Kiyoomi of a darker time. 

On the day of his death, his wife stands on one side of the bed and Kiyoomi on the other.

He thought he had made his peace with it. Kiyoomi finally felt ready for his lifetime, had accustomed himself to his role. Had even managed to appreciate Atsumu’s wife to a certain extent, prepared to welcome and love their children, didn’t spend a day without imagining Atsumu’s enthronement ceremony.

Atsumu would have made a good Emperor and Kiyoomi would have followed him to the confines of the world.

But once again, he’s simply left heartbroken and wavering. 

Sick, exhausted, miserable.

**\- 1856 -**

“What the fuck are you two doing here?”

Bokuto and Hinata blink at the same time and tilt their heads in opposite directions.

Kiyoomi is one second away from shutting the door right to their irritating faces. The only thing preventing him from doing so is the presence of a newcomer just behind them, who looks far calmer and, to be honest, a little lost.

“Nice to see you too!” Bokuto beams at him. “Well, since you didn’t show up when Akaashi became immortal, so we thought it’d be nice to introduce you guys to each other!”

Oh, so that’s the new guy Kiyoomi dreamt of a few nights ago. He kind of recognizes him now, black hair perfectly split in the middle and stern, composed look. He did wonder why such a stranger appeared in his sleep, and why he was being stabbed in the middle of the street in all of his dreams.

Then again, Kiyoomi had so many nightmares and so little sleep that those questions never lingered for too long in his mind.

“How did you fi-” He stops himself, remembering what Bokuto said about how they could feel each other’s presence if they wished to. “Nevermind.” 

He looks over to the man apparently called Akaashi, nods at him. The latter nods back. 

At least, this one looks a little less… overwhelming than the two others. 

“Also, we wanted to see if you’re doing okay, Sakusa-san.” Hinata resumes, looking a little more hesitant than his peer. Kiyoomi didn’t miss his worried look when he glanced at the large dark circles under his eyes.

“I’m doing fantastic.” Kiyoomi deadpans, before talking again, a little more lively. “Have you found a cure for our problem, by the way?”

After all, Kiyoomi’s searched for it. Gave up on Atsumu for that sole purpose, and came back after years of digging with empty hands and resentful thoughts. 

Who can blame him for trying, though?

Bokuto arches an eyebrow while Hinata frowns slightly. They don’t need to answer for Kiyoomi to understand that they aren’t even looking for one. 

“Sakusa-san,” Hinata speaks again, calmer. “We were wondering if you wanted to come along with us this time.” 

“Yeah, omi-omi!” Bokuto adds immediately after. “Just come with us! I promise it’ll be fun. We go from town to town and help people in need, or resolve conflicts normal folks can’t… Well, trying to be as useful as possible!”

Kiyoomi looks at him blankly before sweeping his glance to Hinata. “Still not interested, thanks.”

“Oh, okay.” Hinata answers, half-disappointed, half-looking like he was expecting it somehow. Bokuto looks dejected. The man named Akaashi looks like he doesn’t care much. “... Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find us!” He adds, a little more cheerfully.

This time, Kiyoomi actually nods. “I do.”

They chit chat at the doorway for another few minutes, mostly sharing news about their country. They might have realized along the exchange that Kiyoomi mustn’t have set foot outside that little rural town in the middle of nowhere in a long time. 

In the end, Kiyoomi still thanks them for bringing those information to him, and even indulges them enough to wish them good luck for whatever they’re trying to achieve out there.

Later in the night, as Kiyoomi lies awake and alone on his futon, the conversation idles in his mind. He wonders when was the last time he actually had such a meaningful exchange of words with other human beings. He wonders if he even talked to someone since Atsumu died, all those years ago, after he left Kyoto over the night to never come back, after he decided that finding Atsumu hurt too much and held too few benefits.

He favored finding a cure and when his research proved to be unsuccessful, simply decided to live in otarcy, where Atsumu couldn’t find him and he couldn’t find Atsumu.

Still, not a day has gone by where he doesn’t miss him, yearns for him, envisions him laying next to him. 

He wonders what Atsumu would say, if he were to see him like this. How disappointed he’d look, how betrayed he’d feel. 

_No, he would completely understand. Wouldn’t he?_

And that’s how Kiyoomi spends another sleepless night, slowly drowning into his own despair. 

###

Kiyoomi never wants to find him again but he doesn’t feel like drifting away from the world is the solution either. 

Moreover, it’s not like his immortality will wear off by doing _absolutely_ nothing. At least, it doesn’t seem to work. 

He spent so much time those last years remembering how he did become immortal; remembering the pain, the sorrow, the distress; remembering Atsumu over and over. 

His insides churned at the sole thought of drawing out his katana again in the middle of a battlefield, vision tainted crimson and hands dirtied beyond saving.

But maybe that was what he needed to do. To slaughter, to endanger himself, to use his powers until those couldn’t regenerate him anymore, until he was left with a hole piercing through his chest that would stay wide and gaping this time. 

Kiyoomi wasn’t willing to hurt himself for the sheer desire of doing so. Every time he thought about it, Atsumu’s worried expression appeared in his mind and convinced him otherwise. 

He couldn’t do that to him. But he could tackle the problem otherwise, find a way to finally make it end.

Nobody had told him that living was so _exhausting_ . So draining and strenuous, so _pointless;_ akin to an everlasting day.

It just felt so futile, without him. 

\---

There’s something so incredibly cynical in becoming a soldier again. 

Kiyoomi hates it. 

Watching all the young recruits training, all so excited to finally be part of the grown-ups, as if anything good could come out of a battlefield. Most of them did go to sword schools at the East of the country, studied and fought for the sole purpose of joining the ranks of the now famous military police, throwing their lives away in the process.

Kiyoomi never thought that fighting a group of revolutionaries inside a inn in the capital would lead to such a rise of popularity, until they found themselves busy with tons of new soldiers enlisting the squad. 

Then they promote Kiyoomi troop captain and ask him to help them with organizing and training all those new recruits.

Kiyoomi can’t possibly refuse. 

His rise among the military force is already phenomenal and he managed to gain the trust of all the higher-ups despite his lack of background and personal information. He can’t put himself in jeopardy. 

He doesn’t think anyone has caught on yet but no one has managed to lay even a scratch on him, despite months of relentless training and battles. He knows it is only a matter of time before suspicions arise and declining such an offer would attract unwanted attention on him.

So, Kiyoomi dutifully accepts the promotion and welcomes every trouble that comes with it. 

Every day, he wakes up, puts his blue haori with the white triangles on the end of the sleeves. Takes his new katana, thinner and deadlier. Casts a glance at his tiny room and slides the doors open, walks through the corridors of the residence and makes his way to the temple, prepared for another day of training.

Until one day, he’s promptly stopped on his way by a fellow captain, whose name he keeps forgetting. 

"Oï, Sakusa-san!" Sakusa turns around. "We're welcoming new recruits today. They came from Edo."

Kiyoomi frowns. “Didn’t we already have newcomers yesterday?”

“Ah yes, but those two apparently lost themselves on their way there.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, pinches the ridge of his nose in palpable annoyance. 

Why did the higher-ups think it was a good idea to have Sakusa Kiyoomi, of all the captains available, personally welcome enlisting soldiers? 

The fellow captain laughs a little. “Yeah, well good luck with them!” before walking off towards the training grounds.

Since he woke up, Kiyoomi’s had a weird sensation tingling his skin, itching at the nape of his neck. Something about today felt unusual, and even though he didn’t have time to dwell on it, the unsettling feeling didn’t disappear.

He understands why when he steps into the small room from one of the buildings adjacent to the temple, glances towards the newcomers, and is met with two identical faces. 

One mop of blonde and one mop of grey. One shit grin and one straight-faced.

The only ways people ever had to differentiate them. 

Kiyoomi looks at him. Looks at that young delighted face, hair slightly disheveled and kimono not well worn, collar hanging too loosely around his neck. 

He looks at him and wonders what wrong it would do to just start running off in the other direction. Run, run run, and never come back. Run, to never have to cross paths with him ever again.

Kiyoomi swallows. Feels the sudden weight of his shoulders doubling and threatening to crush his body onto the ground. 

The day has barely started yet and Kiyoomi feels exhausted to the bone.

“Present yourselves to your superior.” Another captain appears from behind him and Kiyoomi feels trapped, all of a sudden. Doomed to endure this ill-fated encounter, once again.

The twins straighten up a little in unison.

“Mine’s Miya. Atsmu Miya.” _I know_. Seeing that grin makes his heart ache.

“And I’m Osamu Miya.” Osamu goes on and bows his head slightly in respect. Atsumu flinches a little realizing he didn’t do so when he introduced himself and imitates his twin.

Kiyoomi’s gaze sweeps for one to another. He takes his time to scan every inch of their faces, clothes, positions. Then, he starts walking in front of them, hands linked behind his back, doing a little back and forth from one point to another, his stare not leaving their faces for one second. 

Both new recruits’ gazes are transfixed on the tatami below their feet, making their expressions hard to decipher for the new captain. But he can perfectly imagine a glimpse of apprehension in Atsumu’s eyes likely to be absent in Osamu’s.

“My name is Sakusa Kiyoomi. Starting today, I will be your division captain.” All of a sudden, the atmosphere gets heavier, and the twins’ bodies perceptibly stiffen. “You will train under my command and report each of every action to me, and me only.” Kiyoomi makes a short pause, allowing time for the words to be imprinted in their minds. “Did you understand me?”

“Yes, captain!” They answer in unison. 

Kiyoomi nods, more to himself than anything, “At ease.” 

Still in unison, the twins straighten again, eyebrows fiercely knitted and mouth thinned in a decisive expression. They still don’t dare to look at their new superior, and just stare straight at the wooden wall in front of them. Kiyoomi takes a second to commit that serious, determined look to memory.

“Training begins at seven. Be ready on time.” Kiyoomi stops in front of them, one hand settled on the guard of his katana and the other on his hip. 

“Yes, captain!”

“I’ll have someone show you the headquarters.” He doesn’t wait for their answer before heading outside the room, but still hears it as it resonates through the room and echoes the corridors. 

He loses himself into his numerous tasks for the rest of the day. Attends meetings of all sorts, skips meetings to train on his own, monitors the troops under his commands, hears about the various reports. 

Only when he’s back to his room, far later that night, does Sakusa allow himself to exhale profusely, pinching his nose and running a hand through his hair in desperation. 

He finally drops the stoic, cold-stone attitude he held back there in front of them, feeling his heart rate drastically fasten and anxiety rise in his chest. 

He should have expected it. He should have foreseen it, it was a far too good an occasion for Atsumu to show up and disturb the fragile peace he’s managed to achieve here. 

He should have known better than to think he was allowed to rest.

So fucking _exhausting_.

Kiyoomi manages to calm down after an indefinite amount of time spent curled up against the wall, knees pressed against his chest and face buried in them. He untangles his legs, takes the bassine of fresh water at his disposal and splashes some water on his face, wetting the collar of his kimono in the process.

He spends the rest of the evening alone, faking dizziness when asked to join for dinner in the common room. His meal is placed in front of his door and he eats alone, trying to brush off the discomfort he feels at eating in the same room he sleeps, something he hasn’t done in ages. 

Kiyoomi heads to bed quickly after. The picture of a young, naive Atsumu who just enrolled for war but doesn't know it yet is printed on his mind and follows him to his dreams. The typical, unique grin with which he embraces every new situation hunts him down in his sleep. 

Still, he drifts to slumber feeling a bit of relief knowing that, at least, Osamu is there with him.

At least, Atsumu will be easier to manage.

###

Atsumu is hell to manage. 

Kiyoomi gets back to his room every night wondering what wrong he's done to this world to have this curse following him around, glued to his skin like a parasite.

Atsumu is reckless and self-righteous. He doesn't get along with any of the new recruits, or the ones from the previous batch, and Kiyoomi suspects he doesn't discard authority only out of pure convenience. 

To make it more difficult, he's also naturally talented with a sword and stays undefeated during morning training, which absolutely doesn't help his already oversized ego. For the first few weeks, Osamu managed to wear him down a little by beating him more often than not, but it didn't last either. 

After all, Atsumu loved wielding his sword and spent every opportunity he had training. 

At first, Kiyoomi didn't get where he was disappearing off to. He would skip meals sometimes as they gathered in the common hall, or vanish right after having done his share of chores. It took a little research around the compound -not on purpose, of course, Kiyoomi didn’t look for Atsumu at all, on the contrary he was more than delighted to finally have him out of sight- to find him training alone just outside, near the woods. 

Kiyoomi frowned, realizing Atsmu had brought up with him a wooden dummy from the earlier training, one that was already pretty damaged, to keep training with it.

The first time that happens, Kiyoomi leaves Atsumu alone. The second, third and fourth time as well. 

Until the fifth time.

Frankly, Kiyoomi doesn’t know why he keeps coming back to watch him in secret. He already has enough on his plate during the day and has since mastered the art of avoiding him, because Atsumu seems as eager to talk to him as he was during their previous lives together, bound by an inexplicable force that brings them together.

Until now, it worked pretty well, and ever since Atsumu set foot inside the compound for the first time two months ago, they didn’t have time to exchange more than three sentences before Kiyoomi found the perfect excuse to extirpate himself.

So, why on Earth would Sakusa purposely seek Atsumu’s presence?

And why does he one day decide to speak to him instead of just watching from the sidelines as usual?

“Your posture is too stiff.” Kiyoomi regrets speaking the second Atsumu’s body jolts and turns around, wide eyes gazing at him with surprise and apprehension. He curses himself. “Bending your knees will make you react faster.”

Atsumu blinks a few times and nods, mouth pressed in a thin concerned line. Witnessing the highly unusual silence, Kiyoomi’s gaze sweeps between him and the wooden dummy. Atsumu follows his gaze, apprehensive. “Where did you find this training dummy? Who gave you the permission to use it outside of formal training hours?” Kiyoomi inquires.

Atsumu perceptibly flinches, like a child caught red-handed and Kiyoomi exhales through his nose. Of course, it truly wouldn’t be Atsumu if he were actually following orders.

“I-huh, took it from the trash.” Atsumu answers, hesitant at first, smiling apologetically. “Thought no one was gonna use it anyway so…”

“So you helped yourself?” 

“... Well, I didn’t bother anyone by doin’ so, means it’s fine no?” Atsumu eludes the question with a tentative grin. Little tricky one, ain’t he?

"It doesn't work that way." Kiyoomi answers sternly.

Atsumu's fake smile immediately fades. "Ya well, ain't my fault if the others are just a bunch of deadbeats. Ya can't punish me for wantin' to have a little challenge." 

Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow. "How courageous of you to challenge yourself by training on a smashed dummy." 

He moves forward, itching to draw out the katana that's been hanging on his left hip. A childish thought, surely, but he also can't help but think Atsumu needs to be taught a lesson right now. 

Kiyoomi takes another step, his thumb casually rubbing against the hem of his guard. Atsumu doesn't miss it, nor does he feign to not realize how drastically the atmosphere has changed, from what looked like a simple scolding to something more personal, more _tense_.

Well, he couldn't comprehend all the ins and outs even if he tried anyway.

"If you wish to challenge someone who's stronger than you, then I have no choice but to volunteer."

Several emotions flower on Atsumu's face. First, his eyes widen in surprise. Then, his eyebrows furrow in brief hesitation, before they relax as the realization that his superior isn't making some kind of joke sinks in. Finally, a grin; but much more genuine and different from the previous ones. A sharp, dangerous smile that barely represses all the rushing excitement.

"Well, if it's the captain's wish, I have no choice but to obey."

 _As if obeying to anyone has ever been your thing._ Kiyoomi thinks, so hard he might have mumbled it.

Atsumu had simply lowered his katana when Sakusa interrupted his training. He turns his body towards his superior, fully facing him, ready to strike at any moment.

Kiyoomi draws out his katana. He wonders quickly if it wouldn't be more mature of him to have him wait for five minutes here and come back with wooden training swords, but discards the thought. 

Being a three-hundred year-old immortal doesn’t mean you can't act childish every once in a while.

"No deadly blows, we strike only to disarm the opponent." Kiyoomi clarifies, lifting in katana in front of himself and getting into position. “It ends when one of us is subdued by the other.”

“Hope ya won’t hold a grudge agains’ me for ruinin’ yer uniform then, captain!”

Kiyoomi doesn’t gratify this provocation with an answer, already focused on what will be his first move. Seeing this, Atsumu’s grin evolves in a dangerous smirk and he gets ready all the same, clenching the handle of his katana with his two hands.

As expected, it doesn’t take more than three seconds before Atsumu eagerly races towards his captain, ready to strike the first blow. Kiyoomi dodges it easily on the right, dropping his weapon slightly before aiming for his adversary’s right flank. Atsumu’s eyes sweep quickly enough to see the attack coming and he jerks aways on the left. In the process, he loses his balance, stumbles awkwardly on one feet than another, and ends up falling on the ground ass first, dropping his katana in the process. 

When he lifts his head, he finds himself face to face with the tip of his captain’s blade, and the cold, undecipherable gaze he’s been used to get since his arrival at the compound.

He swallows, hard.

Kiyoomi draws back his sword seconds after. He watches Atsumu get back on his feet on his own, not holding out his hand to help.

“This move would have certainly worked against a motionless target. A shame soldiers on the battlefield tend to not stay immobile.” He deadpans and under the moonlight he witnesses Atsumu’s ears redden in embarrassment.

“Hurm, yeah I may have gotten a lil’ too excited over there…” Atsumu sighs loudly, retrieving his katana with one hand while the other scratches his neck. He looks at his blade for a few seconds and then chuckles, the sound bright and appealing to Kiyoomi’s ears. It caresses his skin and warms his heart. “Can we do another round, captain? I’ll make it worth yer time, I swear!” 

Kiyoomi should say no, of course. He should put a stop to that masquerade immediately, order him to stop stealing the training dummies at once or threaten to punish him for disregarding the rules, as he would do for any other, or as any other captain would do to him. 

But the low, soft chuckle resonates in his mind; reminding him of a time where they would train together everyday and sleep together every night.

“Just one.” He is rewarded with a bright smile and a tremor of excitement, and Kiyoomi’s worries scatter into the evening breeze.

They end up going at it for more than one round, not that Kiyoomi believed in what he said in the first place.

When Kiyoomi finally calls it a day, they're dirty and sweating, panting loudly. Atsumu didn't manage to beat him once, but he proved himself to be quite challenging at times. A quick learner and a monster, always striving to just improve, inhabited by a deep-seated hunger.

They go back inside the compound together and split in the empty hallway. They wish each other good night, Kiyoomi with a stern look and Atsumu with his flushed cheeks and his usual smirk.

Kiyoomi turns around, ready to walk his way back to his residence. That’s when he hears Atsumu's honeyed voice echoing through the walls. " 'can't wait to train again with ya, taicho!"

Kiyoomi flinches and swings, ready to answer that there won't be another time, but Atsumu has already run away.

This man is nothing but trouble, and still Kiyoomi continues to pursue his companionship.

He’s really nothing but an utter fool.

###

It’s been bothering him, the title.

They keep training together. Or rather, he keeps beating Atsumu's ass, and Atsumu keeps coming back and asking for more. 

And truly, who is he to not indulge him?

Their relationship outside those friendly evening fights also evolves into something quite paradoxical. Kiyoomi doesn't try to avoid him anymore, which unhinges Atsumu's overly friendly attitude towards him. He greets him during breakfast, makes himself visible during morning trainings, runs after him in the hallway when they cross paths, catches him before he can go sit with the other captains for lunch to discuss trivial subjects, and more globally always manages to find him whenever he's not busy with reunions, reports, missions or has retreated in his private headquarters

Unfortunately for him, it doesn't take long to get accustomed to that beam of light again, his chest instantly warming at his sight and his heart churning with love hearing his snarky remarks. 

What's bred in the bone will come back in the flesh, after all.

And so, Kiyoomi starts spending his nights dreading for the moment Atsumu will be taken away from him again, basking in nightmares that seem too real and waking up in sweat and tears.

Soon, he’s the one seeking Atsumu in the morning, making sure he’s still _alive_ and _well_. 

One stupid grin and relief takes over his body, lifts the deadweight from his shoulders.

"Captain! Captain!"

No, definitely, there's something wrong about it. 

Kiyoomi scowls at him, eyebags heavy under his bottom eyelashes, and the sight must be terrifying because Atsumu winces.

Kiyoomi can’t believe it. He tears his gaze away from the soldier and pinches his nose, cursing at himself.

The day where he misses Atsumi's atrocious nicknames has finally arrived. 

He considers retreating to his chambers immediately and asks for forgiveness to his past self for holding such distatesteful, betraying thoughts. 

A flash of all the moments he spent snapping at Atsumu for the way he discarded politeness and customs and straight-up called him with dubious nicknames whistles through his mind. 

_“But omi-omi’s such a cute name! “ “Get lost, Miya.”_

He's going to need some time to process that groundbreaking, horrendous discovery.

It won’t be for today though.

"Sakusa-san!"

Kiyoomi looks over his shoulder as one of his fellow captains -he never learns their names-, paces towards him. "You’re required to attend a meeting." Kiyoomi's questioning look must speak for itself, because he adds quickly. "It's an emergency."

Kiyoomi nods, his eyes narrowing. He doesn't inquire further and just follows him, spares a glance at Atsumu from the corner of his eyes when he’s almost out of the room.

Atsumu shoots him a worried look in return. It haunts him all the way to the meeting room.

\---

Turns out they need to gather a unit within the day to escort an important _shogunate_ representative to Edo. Kiyoomi is the one to organize and lead the mission and he needs to bring ten of his finest soldiers along with him.

Atsumu is included of course and Kiyoomi tries his best to discard the annoying itch at the back of his neck. 

Until now, the boy had mostly run errands, not taking part in any important fight and Kiyoomi wished it could have stayed the same.

He only has only himself to blame for the whole situation. He could have fled. He could have fired Atsumu. He could have not indulged him in multiple training. He could have made him switch divisions. He could not have befriended him.

He could have made rational choices at many different times and places, and he wouldn't be there, in the middle of the forest, dreading for the worst to happen.

Blood still haunts his dreams, more than three hundred years later and he can't let history repeat itself. 

Since they left the compound, he's kept Atsumu close to his right flank, placing him on the inside of the formation. When crossed with Atsumu's doubtful look about that strategic decision, Kiyoomi had answered that Atsumu was better fitted to be on the closed-guard. He still doesn't know why he felt the need to justify his order to a subordinate, but he did it nonetheless.

It’s a twelve-day marching trip towards Edo, and nothing noticeable happens for the first part. The atmosphere is good overall, not too tense but not relaxed either. The stops they make each night along the way go without a hitch. 

Kiyoomi finds Atsumu unusually quiet compared to how he’s been acting with him lately. It doesn’t take him much time to understand that Atsumu isn’t appreciated by any of his peers and the feeling is more than mutual. 

Still, it doesn’t explain the perpetual broody mood and scowl on his face. 

Until they discuss it one evening.

“Captain?” Kiyoomi looks over his shoulder. He’s sitting on the outside corridor of the house that welcomed them for the evening, enjoying the soothing view of the garden, so immersed in his thoughts he didn’t hear Atsumu slide the door and step behind him. 

Kiyoomi gives him a questioning look, waits for Atsumu to go on, but the latter only gives him a fleeting gaze in return. That hesitating attitude is certainly testing his nerves.

“What’s the matter, Miya?” 

Still, no answer. Instead, Atsumu slides the door closed, takes a step forward and sits on his left. He chews on his bottom lip, his gaze stubbornly set on the garden in front of them, his fingers trailing on his knees.

"If I can ask, captain,” Atsumu begins, “why didn't ya choose Osamu for the mission ?"

He should have guessed. He should have been more perceptive of the constant presence flanking Atsumu's side or right behind his back. Never leaving his side.

"He was needed somewhere else." Kiyoomi answers honestly.

Osamu is quiet, discreet and appears easily trustworthy: the perfect spy. 

"Oh, ok." Atsumu doesn't make a move to leave. His short retort has the undertone of someone who thinks too much for his own good, and Kiyoomi knows something about that.

"... Is it your first time away from him?", Kiyoomi asks eventually, though he can easily guess the answer.

Atsumu flinches. "Yeah. We grew up bein' orphans, like a lotta people, but we always had each other's back. Feels weird to not have him around." 

Kiyoomi's throat dries. "I understand."

"I know he can take care of himself. Pretty sure he thinks I can't." A chuckle, heartwarming. 

"... Who could blame him, though."

"Captain!" Atsumu gasps, his mouth twitching in a pout, his head turning on the right to gaze at Kiyoomi. "Ya know it's wrong, yer just being mean."

"How would I know?"

Atsumu shrugs, his expression easing, turning into something a little softer, a bit hesitant around the edges.

"Dunno. Ya know my favorite onigiri recipes, ya know which desserts I like most, ya guessed my favorite color when ya found that tassel for my guard an’ gave it to me." A pause. “Ya know me.”

Kiyoomi holds his breath. Feels all his body tense, his muscles crisp, his bones expand. "Lucky guesses. Nothing else." 

Their bodies are close enough for their arms to brush against each other. "D'ya believe in soulmates, captain?"

"... Why do you ask?"

"Ya didn't answer my question."

"What if I don't want to?" Kiyoomi snaps, finally turning his head to stare at Atsumu. 

He finds him smiling, the sight appeasing his nerves and cutting his breath short.

Atsumu closes his eyes, hums. "Sometimes it feels like I've known ya for all my life."

Kiyoomi's left arm quivers in desperation. It itches for a touch. His mouth falls open and he wants to scream, his mind urges him to just tell him, share the burden.

He doesn't get the opportunity.

The door slides open behind them, taking them by surprise. "Captain ! We're under attack !"

Kiyooi gets on his feet immediately, takes his scabbard and runs through the house. Atsumu follows him. 

Inside the main chamber, several of his men are already fighting with a group of intruders. Kiyoomi looks around and finds the _shogunate_ representative curled up against a wall, his hands over his head, looking straight terrified.

“Miya!” Sakusa turns around. “Get him out of the house!”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Atsumu hesitate. Open his mouth, bite his lip, close it and run with a dejected look on his face. Without a word, he goes straight to the representative, his katana drawn out. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t look back and rushes into the fight. They’re outnumbered and have been taken by surprise; still his men are holding on well enough. He’s still gauging the situation when the first person attacks him. Kiyoomi dodges the blow easily and strikes his blade into his opponent’s chest. He barely has time to slide it back from the body before another one attacks him on the right flank. He cuts the man’s arm and a splash of blood lands on his face.

Something unpleasant stirs in his chest and freezes his mind. Memories of a day he’s never been able to forget. 

He forces his feet to move in the middle of the battlefield. The sounds, scatters of blade clashing, screams, the tumult of the battlefield, everything sounds so distant, a mere echo to his ears, a veil that shuts him from the world. 

A glance at his uniform,white and cerulean drenched in blood. He lifts his head, searches for a mop of blonde hair and a grin- no for a bald old man accompanied by a man wearing a uniform as immaculate as his soul. 

Atsumu is escorting the politician towards the back entrance, but their opponents have breached their formation and two of them are now walking towards them. Atsumu notices them, turns around to shield himself from the first attack with his blade, kicks the oher intruder in his chest with his feet. Behind him, two other men are surging forward to attack.

Kiyoomi’s body acts on his own. He discards the formation and runs towards them, ready to strike first. He cuts one man’s back and starts fighting with the other. From the corner of his eye, he sees Atsumu struggle with his two opponents. Atsumu’s left hand is pressing his right shoulder where a trail of blood is running down his uniform.

Kiyoomi loses it. 

He turns his back to his opponent, pierces one of Atsumu's opponent's from behind. He sees Atsumu's eyes widen, then creases in fear as his gaze sweeps behind his captain. 

"Captain!!" He howls.

Kiyoomi doesn't have time to turn around before he feels a stabbing pain on his upper back and more blood trailing down his uniform. His blood this time.

Rendered dizzy, gaze blurry, he stumbles a little but still manages to dodge the second strike that's been aiming for his heart.

He can already feel the wound between his shoulder blades closing on its own, and feels _relief_ rushing through his veins.

He exchanges a few blows with the man who just hurt him before slicing his throat. A few seconds later, Kiyoomi is looking perfectly fine, as if he was never injured to begin with.

More enemies come at them and Kiyoomi adopts the same technique. Being immortal doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, far from it, but he couldn't care less. Right now, only Atsumu's safety matters.

Right now, he can use his immortality to protect him. 

He gets multiple bruises and lacerations on his arms and gives back by piercing their chests or slicing their members. His whole Shinsengumi uniform is drenched in blood, white and blue barely recognizable, and nobody could know which fraction belongs to his enemies and which one comes from him.

All they know is that their captain is behaving like an unstoppable mad dog, slaughtering his opponents one by one, never tumbling or weakening, until there's no one else left standing but them.

Once the fight is over, Kiyoomi briefly wipes the blade clean against the sleeve of his uniform and draws his katana back in his scabbard and turns towards Atsumu, the last blow he took on his right shoulder already starting to heal magically.

Atsumu is alive. It seems he killed his fair share of opponents and doesn't look too injured, if not for the deep cut on his right shoulder.

He's staring at Kiyoomi as if he's seen a ghost, sparkles of mixed fear and surprise, mouth slightly hung open and body quivering, his glance flicking over Kiyoomi’s body, searching for evidence of their deadly fight, for anything that might indicate Kiyoomi’s suffered multiple cuts.

Of course, he finds none of it. 

Just a man, drenched in blood from head to toes, looking like a demon.

"Miya, you're wounded." Kiyoomi's voice seems to trigger something, and their gazes cross just after. He merely extends his hands towards him, and Atsumu flinches in response. _Oh_. "Just- stay here."

He tries to brush off the _scared_ knee jerk response of Atsumu to his mere presence and orders all the others around. They lost three men, four are injured and the others are fine. He makes sure the injured are being cared for and commands the others to put the dead bodies outside so the room doesn't stench too much.

The _shogunate_ representative came out of the fight unscattered -if not for his general state of choc-. Kiyoomi assigns a soldier to his private protection and asks them to wait in one of the private rooms of the house.

When he comes back to Atsumu, he finds him sitting against the wall, a hand pressed on his shoulder. He looks paler than before. Kiyoomi's heartbeat hastens.

"Miya," the unfocused gaze flickers towards Kiyoomi’s face. He kneels in front of him, finds comfort seeing that this gesture doesn't make him flinch this time. "How are you feeling?"

"Not so bad." Atsumu smiles, too hesitant to look anywhere near genuine. "Coulda been worse." 

Kiyoomi arches an eyebrow. "You look paler than death." 

"Ya really know how to compliment a fella, dontcha captain?" Atsumu answers, a little more lively. His gaze sweeps hesitantly across the room, the blood-drenched floor and the bodies currently being moved around. "It's just a lil' smelly in there right now, nothing important but huh, guess no one likes to be surrounded by dead bodies and pools of blood."

Yeah, Kiyoomi pretty much gets the point.

"Let's get somewhere more private then."

Atsumu manages to stand on his own, still pressing his hand on the wound. Kiyoomi’s hand itches with the need to extend his help. 

He fears Atsumu’s reaction too much to do it. 

There's another unoccupied private room attached to the main hall of the house, which was supposed to serve as Kiyoomi's private quarters for the night, but he highly doubts they'll be getting any sleep tonight.

He slides the door closed behind them. 

"Sit."

Atsumu does so in silence. He also starts undressing, struggles to take off his haori, and discards it next to him. The task proves itself to be a little more difficult for his black kimono and he winces as he tries to take the fabric off his wound.

Kiyoomi carefully helps him through it. A knot unties his insides when he realizes Atsumu doesn't jerk away from the touch this time, even leans towards it. He manages to remove the fabric that has started to stick to the dried-blood wound, and helps Atsumu get rid of the sleeve.

Then, he takes the bottle of alcohol he's found earlier in the other private chambers and shows it to Atsumu. "I need to disinfect your wound. You're not going to like it." 

Atsumu nods. Looks at the bottle. "Can I have a drink of that before I start screamin'?"

Kiyoomi hands him the bottle. He takes it and drinks a large amount in one go before giving it back. "Ready whenever ya're, captain."

At least he seems to have regained a little bit of his usual carelessness. 

Kiyoomi tears up a small part of the bottom of his not-so-white-anymore kimono, and pours a generous amount of alcohol on it. Then, without warning, he applies the alcohol-soaked fabric on the wound.

Taken by surprise, Atsumu gasps loudly and winces, biting his lip to restrain another scream.

He presses the makeshift compress for a whole minute, rubs it gently against the skin to make sure the wound is clean, then comes closer to inspect it. From his experience, it's not profound enough to be considered critical, but a few stitches are needed and Kiyoomi doesn't have the proper material to do so. 

After another minute of meticulous inspection, Kiyoomi leans back and takes off his haori as well as the first layer of his kimono. He rips off the whites sleeves -that are still mostly unsoiled- and tears the fabric in several bandages, then starts applying the first one on Atsumu’s shoulder. 

The soldier has followed the whole process in silence, not taking his eyes off his captain for a second. 

“... Dontcha need some stuff for yer wounds, captain?”

Kiyoomi feels the gaze hover on his shoulder, his arms, his waist, searching for any traces of laceration. He stays silent.

After a time, Atsumu speaks again. “... Yer aware that I ain’t the only one who saw you pull up that crazy shit of a fight earlier, right?”

The brown pupils have stopped lingering on his body and are now anchored on his face. He feels his cheeks warming under the scrutinizing stare.

He tries to sound as casual as possible, but Kiyoomi doesn’t miss the hint of hesitation and… fear? 

“I’m aware.” He sternly answers, still focused on wrapping the bandages around Atsumu’s shoulder. 

“I-huh-” Atsumu exhales a deep frustrated sigh. KIyoomi turns his head and crosses his gaze, anchors himself in it. Realizes how close they are to each other. “Ya don’t hafta explain it to me, captain. If ya don’t want to.” He doesn’t wait for an answer before switching subjects. “Anyway, what are we supposed to do now?”

Kiyoomi leans back a little and busies himself by putting back his sleeveless kimono on. “You’re going to lead the men back to Kyoto as soon as the sun rises. They higher-ups need to be alerted as soon as possible of what happened there.” 

He ties up his sash and straightens.

“What dya mean? Where are ya going?”

“I’m not coming with you.” Kiyoomi purposely avoids his stare, gazing at the tatami just in front of Atsumu’s knee.

“What? Why?” A hint of distress, barely hidden. 

Kiyoomi breathes through his nose. “You said it yourself. You’re not the only one who saw what… I was capable of. I cannot return to the compound.”

“W-Who cares what yer capable of?!” Atsumu straightens up abruptly, winces and holds his shoulder in reaction. “Ya saved all of us back there! We’d be dead men if ya didn’t kill those guys.”

“I cannot have people know about my capabilities, Miya.” Kiyoomi meets his gaze, holds him. “As soon as the word spreads, I will be hunted down for it.” He gestures with his hand. “I acted foolishly earlier and allowed people to see it.”

Something in Atsumu’s composure breaks. “D’ya really think it was foolish to save us?” 

He looks at Atsumu, and all he sees for an instant is the dead body hanging in his blood-tainted arms. 

At least, he managed to save him this time.

He grits his teeth. Stares at Atsumu, at this young version he’s only learnt to know for a few months. He thought he would be granted more time with this one, enough to see him age and mature, to enjoy his presence everyday for years and let himself be swept away by the irradiant light.

Kiyoomi closes his eyes. He’s so tired of hiding, lying, pretending. He’s so tired of watching from the sidelines and be doomed to never be content. 

He hates himself, hates his life, hates what he’s become. 

“I didn’t do it for them.” His mouth feels mushy, his voice sounds distant. “I did it for you.”

_Run away with me. Let me enjoy your presence for a little longer._

No, he can’t. He can’t inflict this life to Atsumu.

Atsumu scrambles forward, grips the hem of Kiyoomi’s kimono with his blemished hands. “Lemme come with ya, then!” He pleads, “I-I owe ya my life, and we still haven’t finished practicin’ properly- yer still criticizin’’ my stance!” Kiyoomi’s eyes are attracted by the crimson stain forming on the white bandage that keeps spreading dangerously.

“Miya, your should-”

“We just need to come back and get ‘Sam an’-an’ then-”

“You have to calm dow-”

“I don’t care!” He screams. “I don’t care ‘bout that stupid wound or those politicians or anythin’ else!” The grip against his kimono is shaking. “I just- I wanna stay with ya, captain. We barely got to know each other an’- an’” Kiyoomi’s hands act on their own, come to rest on Atsumu’s back, caress the bare skin. 

Kiyoomi inhales Atsumu’s scent, exhales. Leans his forehead against his, closes his eyes. “I’m not going back with you, _Atsumu_.” He feels Atsumu’s itched breath skimming against his lips. “But it doesn’t mean we’ll never see each other again.”

He can’t drag Atsumu into this mess. A lifetime of running away, disappearing, hiding; he doesn’t deserve any of this. 

Atsumu presses his chest against his, body trembling. 

Kiyoomi leans back a little, anchors his dark pupils into that pained, usually so mischievous gaze. Feels Atsumu’s breath tingle against his chin, watches Atsumu’s look flicker towards his lips, hears Atsumu’s heartbeat bumping loudly.

Atsumu’s fingers grip the collar of his kimono firmly, use it as a leverage to tiptoe and close the gap between them.

His lips are chapped, fitting perfectly against Kiyoomi’s. He immediately melts to the touch, hands pressing against his back, trailing down the firm muscles from the shoulder blades to his bare flanks. 

Their kisses become heated and soon enough their tongues melt against each other, open-mouthed exchanges filled with longing and desire, heat burning at the bottom of their waists. 

They end up on the floor, Atsumu’s body writhing below him.

Kiyoomi has closed his eyes, letting himself drift into the excitement and pleasant warmth, hand and mouth soon touching every part of Atsumu’s skin, adoring each muscle, each freckle, each imperfection. 

Still the same beautiful, lavishing body he wishes nothing more than to revere and adore.

Amidst the ragged breaths and heavy panting, Kiyoomi catches a muffled moan, a sound that hits quite different from the rest. He raises his head from the nipple he was lapping, only to find Atsumu’s bandage more crimson than earlier.

He immediately stops, gets off and looks around to grab the remaining bandages. He hears a ruffle from below, and then a complaint. “It’s nothin’ captain, I’m good to go, I swear.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, decides to ignore the comment. “Sit up.” 

Atsumu reluctantly obeys, an obvious pout plastered on his face. “The wound ain’t that deep, I can- ouch- captain!” He winces in pain as Kiyoomi pats his fingers against the wound through the wet bandages. 

“Stop talking, you idiot.” 

Kiyoomi undoes the blood-tainted bandages and presses the rest of his torn-off kimono against the wound. “Here, hold this.” 

Atsumu takes the cloth and keeps on pressing it against the wound. Kiyoomi’s glance flickers towards his dejected face, flushed cheeks and well-kissed lips. 

He can’t help but bend down furtively to peck his lips, straightening up before Atsumu can deepen the kiss. 

“That ain’t fair, captain.” Atsumu grumbles, even though his face lightened up at the gesture.

 _“Atsumu_.” Atsumu blinks, lifts his head to meet the dark stare. “Starting tomorrow I won’t be your captain anymore.”

“ _Oh_.” Atsumu tilts his head, grins, mischievous. “Guess I’m gonna hafta find ya a nickname, then.”

Kiyoomi turns around, back facing Atsumu. His lips twitch slightly upwards, warm feeling his chest. 

He can’t wait to hear that horrendous nickname again.

###

  
  


Kiyoomi doesn’t get back to Kyoto with the rest of the troop. He follows them from behind, making sure to stay hidden, until they reach the capital.

Then, he disappears. 

Soon, the whole region learns about Sakusa Kiyoomi, the _shinsengumi_ captain who deserted after having slaughtered a dozen of opponents alone. A legend that will certainly follow him for the years to come.

His statute as a wanted man doesn’t make visiting Atsumu easy, especially now that the soldier has been promoted captain in his stead. Hearing the news, he feels a mix of pride and fear flowering in his chest. Still he makes a point of _rewarding_ him accordingly the next time he sees him, laid on the futon inside a dirty room of a cheap inn settled on the outskirts of the capital.

That’s all their relationship is about. Fleeting encounters in hidden inns, stolen moments where they lose themselves in each other, breath each other’s scent, wish for a future where they won’t have to remain unseen anymore. 

“If we were to get married,” Atsumu starts, one night, legs entangled between Kiyoomi’s and head pressed on his chest. “Who would take the other’s name?”

Kiyoomi hums in his hair, fingers playing with a blonde strand. “I don’t know. Which one sounds better?”

“So we’d hafta choose between Sakusa Atsumu and Miya Kiyoomi.” A pause. _Sakusa Atsumu_ . Kiyoomi loves the sound of that name resonating into the air. “Miya Kiyoomi,” Atsumu repeats, name rolling adoringly on his tongue. “‘Sounds nice, _omi-omi._ ”

“... Do all the people who wear that name have to be morons? Just asking.”

Atsumu leans backwards, looking at Kiyoomi with an offended expression. “What?! So mean, _omi-omi_.” 

Before Kiyoomi can register it, Atsumu is straddling him, naked thighs spread on each side of his waist and hands pressing down his shoulders. He’s grinning mischievously, eyes playful and fingers brushing the skin. “Yer already a moron anyway, wouldn’t change anythin’.”

Kiyoomi hands come to rest at Atsumu’s waist. He arches an eyebrow. “How?”

Atsumu leans down, stopping his face inches from Kiyoomi’s. “B’cause ya love me. Makes ya a moron by extension.” 

Kiyoomi’s eyelids flutter. _Yeah, I do. Always has, always will be._

One of his hands leaves Atsumu’s side to grab at his hair and forces him to lean down, capturing his swollen lips in a breathless, urgent kiss.

They don’t speak further about the subject, but the only thing that crosses Kiyoomi’s mind for the following days is the name _Sakusa Atsumu_.

A pretty nice, undoubtedly appealing thought.

\---

Kiyoomi should have followed him. 

When Atsumu told him their troops were leaving for Edo, he followed them from afar. In this new city, they felt like they didn’t need to hide this much anymore, it was liberating.

It didn’t last for a long time though. Atsumu had to leave for a campaign urgently, saying they’d be moving from castle to castle and suppress opposite forces. 

Kiyoomi didn’t like any of that. However, Atsumu managed to soothe him enough to convince him that they would return victorious; asked him to trust him and have faith in his abilities. 

Kiyoomi had never been able to deny this man anything. 

He should have.

The news of their scathing defeat resonates through the _shogun_ ’s capital. When Kiyoomi hears about it, he nearly faints in the middle of the street, overwhelmed by a violent feeling he hadn’t endured in a long time. 

The lifeless bodies are brought back to Edo days after, but Kiyoomi knows he doesn’t have the strength to witness that sight. 

The previous nights have already wrecked his mind enough; horrible nightmares, red-tainted gaze, hallucinations that follow wherever he goes. 

Atsumu dying in his arms. 

So he doesn’t retrieve his body, doesn’t let another dreading memory sink into his mind. 

He just asks for the blood-drenched haori that Atsumu wore the day of his downfall, and leaves the city with his bagage heavier and his heart shattered into pieces.

Kiyoomi should have known better. 

There’s no point in keeping falling in love with Atsumu if he’s always doomed to outlive him.

**\- 1943 -**

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to be there, Sakusa-san?”

Kiyoomi glances at Hinata. Then, his gaze sweeps again through the desolated sight. 

“Yeah, it’s okay.”

He feels Akaashi’s gaze burning a hole through his back but doesn’t turn around.

“Well, let’s get to work, fellas!” Bokuto shouts right next to Kiyoomi’s ear. 

He considers the fact that he still isn’t deaf after all those years with Bokuto screaming in his ears to be quite a miracle.

Today, their work consists of helping the numerous injured soldiers the war has left scattered across the country they’re currently in. They procure first aid, bring food and water, provide medical supplies to the war hospitals nearby. At night, they also undergo more dangerous operations, like stepping into the warfields to retrieve the wounded who can still be saved. 

They try to be as discreet as possible about it, don’t want the wrong people to take an interest in their strange capabilities. 

Kiyoomi has become immune to the sight of blood over the years. He had to, considering the work they’ve accomplished since he finally decided to join their little gang, a little after the _shinsengumi_ downfall. 

Years later, he’s still there, perpetually exhausted by the company but at least feeling a little more _alive_ than he did alone.

After all, if he can’t be with Atsumu, he can still try to shape a world where Atsumu can live in peace. A world when Atsumu doesn’t have to fight, kill, end up murdered.

They split in two groups and, as per usual, he pairs up with Akaashi. 

The raven-haired man offers a silent, comforting presence that Kiyoomi silently appreciates. He’s without a doubt the reason why Kiyoomi still hasn’t attempted a murder on one of their two peers. They often go on rambling about stupid plans and impossible ideas who exhaust Kiyoomi beyond words but, thankfully, Akaashi is there to bring them back to Earth.

Still, he does wonder how a calm, composed person like him can tolerate an unhinged personality like Bokuto enough to be with him.

They never tried to hide. Well, no, they did try to hide it from Kiyoomi at the beginning. Certainly felt it wouldn’t help him grieve. Even though Kiyoomi never really talked about Atsumu and the whole fucked-up reincarnation thing, they didn’t need to be mind readers to know something was off. 

Of course, Bokuto did a poor job at hiding his public displays of affection, kissing Akaashi or holding his hand whenever he thought Kiyoomi wasn’t looking. 

Kiyoomi couldn’t really blame Bokuto for that, though. If Atsumu were to become immortal tomorrow, he wouldn’t deprive himself of any occasion to hold him close. _Must be nice, to know your partner isn’t going to die tomorrow._

He knows the situation isn’t that simple. He knows about the immortals who brutally died before them, losing their powers after ten or six-hundred years. He knows how rough it must be to deal with a death you thought could never happen.

He knows they both fear the day where the wounds of the other won’t close anymore, the threat of mortality hanging upon their heads. 

Still, Kiyoomi can’t help but envy their situation. 

“Sakusa-san, over there.” 

Akaashi’s voice brings Kiyoomi back to Earth and he follows him to where a bunch of wounded soldiers are currently being taken care of. They distribute meals and water, check their wounds when they feel the necessity, change some bandages and wet clothes to appease some fevers. 

The afternoon is overall uneventful. They make their way back to the entrance of the camp, noticing Bokuto and Hinata are already there.

Then, someone walks in front of them, a bucket of water in one hand and fresh bandages in the other. Disheveled blonde hair, worried brown eyes, worn out face with a few scratches here and there, simple kimono tainted with traces of dirt and blood. 

Kiyoomi freezes. The man doesn’t see him, already running off to the other side of the precarious hospital.

Kiyoomi turns around, follows the silhouette, eyes wide open. 

_Wherever Atsumu strays, Kiyoomi will follow._

Then, why does Atsumu keep following him, when Kiyoomi wants nothing more but to leave him in peace? 

“... Do you want to go and say hi?” Kiyoomi blinks and turns around. Akaashi is also looking at Atsumu as the latter disappears between the crowd. 

Kiyoomi’s gaze lingers again. He misses him, everyday. His heart never recovered from the last time Atsumu disappeared, the blow brutal and burning. He wasn’t even there to comfort him, reassure him, promise him everything would be alright. 

He let him die alone against the cold paved stone of a miserable castle. 

_He wouldn’t have never become captain if I didn’t encourage him to._

Kiyoomi doesn’t have the right to stumble into Atsumu’s life again. Nothing good will ever come out of it for as long as he’s immortal, as long as war and devastation are tearing their country apart. 

He clenches his fists, fingers digging into the skin and drawing blood.

“... No. Let’s go.”

Kiyoomi knows better than not. If he follows him, only death will do them apart. 

Atsumu’s death.

He turns around, starts walking towards Bokuto and Hinata. Akaashi follows suit. 

Kiyoomi feels it, during their walk back towards their temporary residence. He feels the rage inside himself, the burning desire to just _turn around_ , turn around and run backwards. He feels heartbroken, miserable; he feels like he’s just made a heavy mistake that’ll haunt him for his whole life.

But he doesn’t turn back. He keeps walking, gaze seet straight ahead of him, the gaping hole burning in his chest. 

He keeps walking because he knows this lifetime isn’t the right one either; and he’ll keep waiting for as long as he needs to.

**\- 2018 -**

“I like yer moles.” 

Kiyoomi squints, opens his mouth to speak. No words come out. 

Atsumu goes on, trying his best to not look more embarrassed than he already is. 

“I mean, it’s- those are nice moles.” Atsumu grins. “Don’t take it wrong, I compliment everyone on their moles because we all shoul’ feel proud of them!”

“Atsumu-san, you didn’t comment on my moles.” Hinata says from the other side of their changing rooms.

Atsumu turns around, seemingly taking advantage of that diversion to run away from Kiyoomi. 

Kiyoomi, who’s standing there, watching him leave. 

Kiyoomi, who’s remembering all the times Atsumu has complimented him about his moles for the last five hundred years.

He’s still as flustered as the first time he heard it. Annoyed, also; but annoyance is a lingering feeling when one finds himself talking to Atsumu Miya.

When Kiyoomi looks around the room, he finds Bokuto staring at him with big eyes and a knowing smile. Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, finishes changing, takes his training bag and walks out without saying anything else.

He can’t wait to have a peaceful, uneventful walk back to his apartment.

When he gets out of the building, he finds Atsumu waiting outside. Waving at him. 

" _Omi-omi_ ," _Oh_ , the things this nickname still does to his poor heart, centuries later. "I was startin' to think ya already left."

Kiyoomi furrows his eyebrows, the grip around his sports bag handle tightening. "Aren't you going home, Miya ?"

He isn't mean on purpose, contrary to what people think. 

He just thinks it'd be better to establish a respectful distance between them as quickly as possible. There’s no point in befriending him when immortality is still kicking off, lively as ever.

" _Trust me, I have a good feeling this time._ " Bokuto had said, as they were watching the InterHigh nationals and discovering together a young and impetuous Miya Atsumu.

He shouldn't have trusted him at all. 

"Oh, Bokkun told me earlier that we were livin' in the same neighbourhood so, I thought we could head back together!" 

Kiyoomi doesn't agree or disagree. He stares at him for a moment and then starts walking towards the train station without a word. Atsumu follows him quickly.

"So, huh, yer spikes are pretty wicked, omi-kun." Atsumu starts, because of course he can't spend more than thirty seconds without feeling the immense urge to talk about whatever's crossing his mind at the moment. "I woulda love to find a way to counter those." 

"A shame we ended up as teammates, then." Kiyoomi deadpans.

"Don't put words in my mouth, omi-kun! Just thought it woulda been nice to play against ya during highschool." A pause. "Where didja play again?"

"In the United States." 

A straight-up lie, but one of the only options that they had when they decided to join the _MSBY Jackals_. Hiding their true identity and lack of any ascertainable background proved to be a challenge in itself.

Thankfully, apart from becoming a manga editor, Akaashi also specialized in computer technology, which enabled him to create false identity papers and insert them into this era without too much difficulty.

"Kinda lame ya don't have videos from yer highschool plays." 

"I don't like being on videos."

Since those were invented, alongside photography, they did their best to avoid them. The legend of the infamous shinsengumi captain with sacred powers who slaughtered a whole army was still kicking off pretty well in this era, and it was good enough.

"I'm sure ya pretty photogenic even if yer saying yer not." Kiyoomi rolls his eyes but doesn't gratify Atsumu with an answer.

They make it to the train station, Atsumu doing most of the talking and Kiyoomi either answering with monosyllables or just ignoring him.

"D'ya like onigiri?" Kiyoomi snaps out of his trance and wonders if he missed the connection with what was said before or if Atsumu just changed subjects. Knowing him, it’s probably the latter. "Well, everyone loves onigiri so that ain't really a qu-"

"I don't like onigiris."

"... huh ?"

Ah yes. His favorite argument coming back to haunt him once again.

"I despise eating with my hands. It's not hygienic." Kiyoomi makes it short, to the point.

Atsumu looks at him and blinks several times. Kiyoomi tries to ignore how long his eyelashes are, so long he could count each and every of them if he was only leaning a little closer.

His feet stay anchored to the ground.

A mere second after, Atsumu breaks into a laugh, beautiful and resonating through the nearly empty train. 

"Yer such a weird guy, omi-kun!"

Kiyoomi looks at _him_. He looks at the way his defined jaw clench, looks at the parted lips and white teeth, looks at the slightly flushed cheekbones, the creased eyes and carved temples, at the little faucet under his chin and the wrinkles under his long eyelashes.

He looks at him, and his breath stays stuck in his throat, warmth spreads through his chest, yearning flowers in his belly. 

He hears him laugh and his eyelids flutter, the back of his neck tingles, his cheekbones blossom.

He stands next to Atsumu, inhales Atsumu’s scent and listens to Atsumu’s laugh. 

He doesn’t need more to fall in love all over again, or to recognize that the love he feels towards this man never left to begin with. 

Kiyoomi realizes there’s no stopping it, and maybe it’s fate but maybe it’s not. Maybe he’ll just be doomed to love him over and over because Miya Atsumu deserves nothing less, and not because an omniscient force decided so a long time ago.

It’s not about destiny, it’s not about choice, and it’s certainly not about something too mighty for Kiyoomi to control. 

He loves Atsumu Miya because it’s simply him. Always has been, always will be.

And, at this instant, this utter feeling of adoration filling Kiyoomi’s insides is worth all the pain he’s endured until now, and all the pain he hasn’t seen yet.

###

So, volleyball. 

Quite a change of scenery, to say the least. Not that Kiyoomi would mind; he’s grown quite tired of worldwide conflicts and horrific sceneries.

It happened a few years ago, as they were hanging together in a bar in Tokyo, deciding on their next destination. 

Kiyoomi had never been much of a sports man, nor was he particularly attracted by TV in general. He didn’t see the appeal of staying in front of a screen for hours on end. On the other hand, Bokuto was easily distracted by the white light, whether it was on the street or in a public place. 

Kiyoomi had had the opportunity to visit his newest place in Tokyo, which he now shared with Akaashi, and they had bought an immense screen for that sole purpose. 

As such, Kiyoomi was absentmindedly nursing his cocktail, far too busy staring at the abnormal little imperfection made on the wooden table to notice what was happening on the screen on the other side of the bar. 

Until Bokuto abruptly grabbed his arm, almost making him spill his drink on the counter. 

“Omi-omi! Look, look!” Bokuto shaked his arm abruptly and Kiyoomi, for the umpteenth time, did wonder how Akaashi _managed_. “It’s him!”

And Kiyoomi knew, even before looking at the screen, who Bokuto was talking about. 

It was kind of a magical feeling, an energy that woke inside his chest and warmed his body instantly, something he’s been used to feeling every time he would see him again. His body warning him, preparing him, bringing him to the edge and waiting for him to take the fall.

He looked up, obsidian gaze snatched by the luminous screen, and saw _him_ for a fraction of a second. His hair half-died, half-black, grinning at his twin brother, looking young and innocent, once again.

He faded and was replaced by other youngsters wearing similar sports uniforms, standing on a volleyball court inside of a huge gymnasium.

The voice-over was barely audible among the noise that filled the restaurant, but Kiyoomi managed to grasp all the information he needed. _“Today was the third day of the Spring High National tournament taking place at the central gymnasium of Tokyo. Tomorrow, the semi-finals will see Inarizaki High School from Hyogo Prefecture play against….”_ The team in a black came back to the screen for an instant, displaying some of their most iconic moves of the day. 

Atsumu was there, throwing the ball at a darker-skinned teammate that spiked it with tremendous force and managed to take a point. Atsumu grinned, wildly.

He looked like he was having so much fun.

“It’s him, it’s him!” Bokuto repeated, sounding far too excited. “Omi-omi, we need to go see that!”

“... No, we don’t.” Kiyoomi still wasn’t mortal, and he didn’t want to go through this again. 

His body still willing to go further. 

“Are you sure? You already missed him one time!” 

Kiyoomi looked at him and darted his glance back to the screen. It wasn’t about volleyball, but another world disaster.

"Sakusa-san," Kiyoomi looks at Hinata from the corner of his eyes. "Maybe you should give it a chance, this time. I mean, well," he licks his lips. "You don't have to greet him or anything. But it's been a long time since you've last seen him, and you don't know i- when the next time will be."

Kiyoomi knew they were right and, while Akaashi didn’t say anything, his piercing gaze was telling more about his opinion than any word that could leave his mouth.

Sakusa held a sigh. His eyes darted back to the hole in the wooden table.

"We're just passing by tomorrow. No greeting, no staying."

###

Of course, nothing went according to plan.

They’re not there for long, Kiyoomi thinks as he takes place on the top of the bleachers and watches the first match from the semi-finals that has already started.

The match in itself isn't very interesting and ends up quickly. After another few minutes, the next teams playing against each other step on the court. Kiyoomi immediately recognizes the black jersey and finds a mop of blond hair immediately after.

He's never far away from a mop of grey hair, as he's always been, and Kiyoomi finds comfort in seeing Osamu besides him. He deserves to have his twin brother besides him, considering how miserable he was each time he didn't get that chance.

Kiyoomi's eyes never leave Atsumu. He listens to the commentaries every time they're saying his name, addressing how incredible it is for first years to be part of the starting team, and how their duo with his twin brother is a real pain in the ass to anyone who dares confront them. 

Kiyoomi unconsciously nods. He couldn't agree more.

When the match ends, Kiyoomi knows he's done for. 

They leave the gymnasium, and he feels three pairs of eyes on him, waiting for any remark he didn't do or any comment he held.

"Sakusa-san?" Akaashi has finally mustered the courage for the three of them, and Kiyoomi turns around to look at them once they’re outside.

Kiyoomi glances at the gymnasium for a minute, gaze drifting behind his comrades.

The words leave his mouth before he can really think them through. "I think I’m going to settle here for a little while." 

When he looks back at the people who've been with him for more than a century now, he already knows what their reactions will be.

Bokuto couldn't have a wider grin and Akaashi couldn't have a more knowing look.

"Omi-omi !! I knew you would like modern Tokyo!" Bokuto screams, and runs to hug Kiyoomi who expertly avoids the gesture. "I didn't want you to tell you guys but I quite like it there."

"It's nice!!" Hinata answers, cheerful as always. "Guys, can we learn to play volleyball ? Those guys back there looked so cool!" 

"Yeah I wanna do that too!! Akaaaaaashi, don't you wanna learn how to play volleyball ?"

"Hm, I'm not sure I would be any good at this, Bokuto-san. I don't think any of us would be."

"Why not?! Don't sound so gloomy, Akaashi!!"

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes and pinches his nose, more out of habit than anything. 

"Do whatever you want." He turns around and starts walking again.

"Wait, omi-omi, are you gonna learn how to play volleyball ?" Bokuto resumes his walk just behind him, and so do the others. "Oh, does it mean we get to live together again ?!"

"Oh, that would be so dope!"

"Koutarou, Hinata-kun, I'm not sure Sakusa-san wants to-"

But they're already not listening to anything reasonable Akaashi is trying to say.

###

Of course, they don't live together. Kiyoomi doesn't want to find Bokuto's dirty socks on the floor, nor doesn't he want to live with a couple, much less this one.

He craves peace and mental sanity too much for that.

"Omi-omi, what dya think of those ?"

Well, if he truly wanted peace, he wouldn't be out on the streets with Miya Atsumu, indulging him in his new obsession of finding good looking sport shoes when he already has five different sorts.

Kiyoomi looks at the pair behind the glass of the shop, and shrugs. "The colors are horrible."

"What??" Atsumu gasps. "Those colors are real fancy right now! Ya don't have any taste in clothin' !"

"In this case, why did you beg me to come with you?" He deadpans, and leaves the vitrine, making his way to the far too busy street.

"I-I didn't beg you !"

"Yes, you did. Quite pitifully, in fact." Kiyoomi perfectly hides the smile that threatens the corner of his mouth. “I guess it’s because no one wanted to go out with you.”

“Ya so mean, omi-omi!” Atsumu puffs, following him closely. “For yer information, they didn’t say they didn’t wanna go with me, they just considered it wou’d be betta if I asked ya first, because apparently ya great taste or some shit like that.”

Kiyoomi’s right eyebrow twitches in annoyance. _Bastards._

"Of course I have great taste, unlike any of you."

"Well, since ya have such nice taste, how ‘bout ya pick my shoes for me then?" He hears Atsumu's smirk more than he sees it.

Kiyoomi throws a glance at him from the corner of his eye, determined to ignore the challenge. It's silly and useless; very Miya Atsumu-like.

"... Unless ya actually dunno anythin’ 'bout fashion an' yer just here because ya like spendin’ time with me."

He takes up the challenge.

They go from shop to shop for about an hour. Kiyoomi is far more into this than he was supposed to, but thankfully Atsumu doesn't make a remark about it.

The truth is, Kiyoomi knows Atsumu's tastes by heart. Well, never across the centuries did they buy shoes together, but he's stared at Atsumu for long enough to just know what he would wear right now.

They talk a little during their escapade. Well, Atsumu does most of the talking and Kiyoomi listens, more reverently than he appears to. He listens attentively to that peculiar dialect, that airy laugh and those falsely outraged gasps. 

It sounds like a melody to his ears.

It feels like home.

At some point, one pair of shoes catches Kiyoomi's attention. He abruptly stops in front of the vitrine, causing Atsumu to bump behind, and points the pair to the setter without a word, eying him from the corner.

Atsumu squints, thoughtful for a moment, then nods in approval and strolls inside the shop without any further warning. Kiyoomi’s eyebrows twitch in confusion as he follows him inside. 

He at least expected him to make a comment.

He finds himself a corner and watches Atsumu ask nicely the closest vendor for the shoes that are displayed at the front. Of course, he can’t help but do his _thing_ , mischievous smile and soothing words, and the poor girl is flustered quickly enough as she bows and disappears in the backroom. 

Who could blame her, though.

Atsumu turns toward him. “Anyway, nice shop, omi-omi. Very like ya.”

Well, he’s certainly talking about the fact that this is the most organized and minimalist shop they’ve come across since they started their quest. All shoes are neatly disposed on symmetric black shelves, the walls are blank, the alleys are two meters-wide and not one thing looks out of place. 

Atsumu’s never been to Kiyoomi’s place, but he wouldn’t be surprised to find how little things the opposite hitter actually owns. It sure fits Kiyoomi’s character. But it’s harder to explain in detail exactly why he doesn’t bother buying things in general. It’s no use settling somewhere when you might have to move out six months from now, and when all your possessions through the centuries are an old katana, a worn-out kimono, a golden bracelet and blood-drenched haori.

Atsumu’s never been to Kiyoomi’s place but he knows what fits his character only five months after their first encounter, and it makes Kiyoomi’s heart clench. 

“Everyone likes well-organized shops.” He answers, while getting his balm lip out of his pocket. 

The atmosphere just feels so _dry_.

“‘Pretty sure ya’ve never been Bokkun’s place if ya say this.”

Unfortunately, he has, on multiple occasions. 

“... Is this some kind of way to tell me your place looks like Bokuto’s?” Kiyoomi squints. 

Kiyoomi wouldn’t be surprised if Atsumu’s place looked like hell. As a Prince, he loved nothing more than to throw his clothes all around. Even when they lived together and didn’t have much, Atsumu always made a point in not tidying the stuff he was using.

No, honestly, he already knows the answer, but he can’t help asking because embarrassing that man is a hobby in itself.

“No, absolutely not!” And of course, he would be met with absolute denial and shock. “Why wouldya think that?”

“An intuition.” 

“Well, if yer so sure of yerself, why dontcha come see it afta this?” Atsumu crosses his arms against his chest. 

A missed beat.

“Are you… inviting me over, Miya?” He shouldn’t ask questions he already knows the answer to. Nothing good ever came out of that. 

“Ya don’t have to make it sound like that!” Atsmu snaps, torn between embarrassment and anger, crimson spreading his cheeks so blatantly Kiyoomi can see it from his corner.

Or maybe it’s because he’s known him long enough to imagine it. Beautiful red just asking to be soothed away with light kisses. 

“Like what?”

“Like yer disgusted by the idea.” It’s softer, but it’s aching; and Kiyoomi wishes he could have been yelled at instead of having to hear this.

He opens his mouth, not certain of the next words that will cross his mouth, when they’re interrupted by a throat scraping. They simultaneously look at the sales person who’s standing not far from them, the box of shoes between his hands, gauging awkwardly at the two men.

Atsumu’s obnoxious smile appears again as he walks towards the vendor to try the shoes. Kiyoomi doesn’t move.

He stays silent, watches Atsumu move around the shop, sitting in a little corner and having some small talk with the salesperson, and he hates himself. 

He hates the situation he's in, he hates that he's too weak and has given in as he always does, always has done.

Kiyoomi wonders what it would have been if he'd just left that restaurant that night, knowing that Atsumu was somewhere safe and resisting the urge to just see him, as if the consequences hadn't already been written.

"Those are nice shoes, omi-omi." 

Kiyoomi lifts his head and sets his gaze on Atsumu. He finds him smiling, but it's the wrong smile and it just makes his heart ache a little more.

Kiyoomi pushes himself off the wall and comes closer, feigning interest by looking at his feet. The shoes are objectively ok. Kiyoomi wouldn't wear that even if the world was on the verge of destruction and those shoes were the final solution, but it's not about him. It's about Atsumu's weird fashion taste he's come to know and grow fond of within the years, because it's just so _him_.

He nods, not saying anything. Atsumi's gaze lingers for a second on his face, mouth twisting into something indecisive, and then it's gone as he focuses on the woman again.

Five minutes later, they're outside, a bag under Atsumu’s arm.

On their way back to the train station, the atmosphere is heavy, to say the least. They don't talk or look at each other, finding the concrete or the shops around suddenly far more interesting.

The train station is within sight soon enough, but unfortunately, they have to stop at the crosswalk just before. Fate doesn't seem kind enough to put them out of their misery.

Kiyoomi knows he should stop being a coward. He should embrace that decision he made years ago and not always act like he regrets it. _You should try being a little nicer to him_ , had said Bokuto, a few weeks after they joined the MSBY Black Jackal.

But he doesn't want to be too nice. He's been through it, already. He knows what will happen if he flies too close to the sun, if he allows all the feelings he's been repressing for so long to come out. 

At the end of the line, of this lifetime, only pain awaits him.

This being said, even acting as a big blunt jerk doesn't stop Atsumu Miya. After all, he never says no to a challenge, and even dumbly runs towards it when he sees the occasion.

"Miy-"

"Omi-o-"

They both stop. The light goes green but they don't resume their walk. Instead, they lift their head and look at each other, surprised to have talked at the same time.

All of a sudden, Atsumu laughs, and Kiyoomi's mouth twitches upward. 

“Well, I-” Atsumu looks at him, and then he doesn’t, head leaning a bit on the right side. “Thank ya for comin’ with me today.” There’s a pause, Atsumu looking for his words as much as he looks for something to set his eyes on. Anything but the man standing in front of him. “I’m sorry for, ya know, earlier…”

Kiyoomi exhales. “You don’t have to apologize.” He knows far too well he’s the one at fault here. The one constantly giving mixed signals. But he needs to step up now. After all, he can’t let Atsumu Miya be the adult here. “If anything, I should have been more careful about my words.” 

Atsumu blinks several, gaze immediately returning on Kiyoomi’s face. His eyebrows furrow a little. “Are ya- Are ya tryin’ to apologize, omi-omi?” 

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “Don’t push your luck, Miya.”

“Right, right.” Atsumu answers, and his smug grin appears for an instant before turning into something softer, that makes Kiyoomi’s insides leap. “The offer still stands, for my apartment. Pretty sure it ain’t as perfect as yer place but I can promise ya it ain’t no dumpster.” He adds quickly while his hand comes to rub the back of his neck, a sign Kiyoomi can only interpret as nervousness. “It don’t have to be rig-”

“I don’t have anything planned for tonight.” Kiyoomi cuts him, words leaving his throat before he can think further about it. “If it’s alright for you.”

Atsumu opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it and stumbles on the first syllables before something coherent comes out. “Y-Yeah of course. Not a problem at all! I’d be more than happy to have ya- to show ya around.” Atsumu’s gaze sweeps through the gaze, looking seemingly uncomfortable. “Are ya sure ya wanna come though? Ya don’t have to play nice- I know it ain’t yer style!” He adds as he realizes immediately Kiyoomi’s annoyed frown at the mention of being _nice_. “I’m just makin’ sure. Don’t worry, ya won’t have to taste my cooking, we can have some take-away or somethin’...” 

He trails off, looking at Kiyoomi as if he was waiting for him to finally cut his bullshit and pull him out of his misery.

“... Is it so difficult to think I would want to come to your place?” Kiyoomi’s eyebrows flinch in surprise hearing how pained he sounds. 

“Well-” Atsumu stops for a second. Kiyoomi’s glance flickers to his coral lips, enticed by the tooth that popped up and is slightly nibbling at the lower lip. Behind him, the sun is slowly starting his downhill, enveloping Atsumu’s silhouette with a golden aura. “Don’t take it wrong, omi-omi, but yer usually kinda cold and actin’ as if I’m always botherin’ ya so I didn’t think ya’d want to spend so much time with me.”

The smile is still there, kinda doubtful of the words that come out of his lips. Embarrassed, if Kiyoomi dares to say. 

“I have the same attitude towards Bokuto and Hinata.” No, he doesn’t. It’s a blatant lie, fueled with not even an ounce of conviction.

“Nah, ya don’t. I mean, at least yer not avoidin’ them.” Atsumu’s eyelashes flutter, his eyelids dropping a little. At this point, they’ve completely forgotten they’re still standing by the crosswalk, too engrossed in this discussion that has escaped from Kiyoomi’s control to evolve into the outcome he’s always dreading. “Honestly, I thought ya hated me at first, omi-omi.”

“Why did you keep talking to me, then?” 

He shouldn’t lean towards this, indulge into Atsumu’s need to confess. He made a promise to himself that day. But he just wants to _understand._ He desperately wants to understand why Atsumu keeps coming back to him no matter how he behaves, no matter what he does to avoid that, no matter the hurdles that stand between them. 

“Dunno.” Kiyoomi could almost have missed it, if he wasn’t so hung on Atsumu’s lips. “Do ya need a reason to accept that I just like ya, omi-omi?” He exhales, and smiles, ever so softly. “I don’t have one. Yer a jerk, yer hands are weird an’ they smell hand-sanitizer wayyy too much. Yer a clean freak and yer way of carefully puttin’ back the balls into the cart when ya cou’d just throw them in there like everyone else does is fuckin’ annoyin’.” A missed beat. “But I still like ya. I like ya very much.”

Kiyoomi opens his mouth, but Atsumu beats him to it. He looks clearly flustered, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “Ya don’t have to like me back.” _But I do._ _I really do. Always has. Always will._ “I mean, bein’ friends wou’d be enough.”

But it’s not enough for Kiyoomi. It’s never been. He’s never been good at watching from the sidelines. He thought he could praise his self-control for not falling in the trap his past self laid bare at his feet, back in that day at the gymnasium. When he was supposed to walk away and come back only when he’d finally be human again.

It’s just too painful, and he isn’t strong enough to stand it anymore. He looks at Atsumu’s beaming face, his rosy cheekbones and his coral lips, so inviting. His vision blurs for an instant, and suddenly it’s another Atsumu standing in front of him, his face dirtied and his kimono half-torn; but still beaming at him. 

_“Ya shou’d try bein’ nice to people, omi-omi. Everyone wonders why I’m always hangin’ around with ya an’ I have a hard time convincin’ them yer a nice person !!”_

_“Huh, why yer askin’? Well ya can’t blame me for wantin’ people to like ya as much as I do!”_

_“Yeah, of course we don’t care ‘bout them- wait, what d’ya mean I’m as much an asshole as yer?!”_

Kiyoomi’s eyes widen, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. He misses him, _god_ he misses him everyday, every hour, every minute. 

His heart has been nothing but a gaping hole for all this time. 

The only reason he keeps fighting to survive, his sole purpose stands in front of him. Yet, Kiyoomi refuses to believe it could be true.

All those years waiting for something that may never happen.

Kiyoomi takes a step forward, raising his arm to tentatively grab Atsumu’s shirt, to make sure he’ll never leave his side again, to finally concede and admit defeat.

He doesn’t get the chance to.

Kiyoomi stops his movement midway, frozen as he hears a woman suddenly scream from afar. They both turn their head on the right immediately, looking at the other side of the road and searching from the origin of the scream. They find a woman kneeling in the middle of the street surrounded by a few people. She’s pointing at the crowd on the paveway. 

“Help!! That man stole my bag!!” 

Kiyoomi’s gaze adverts to the silhouette running and making his way through the crowd, shoving people around. From the corner of his right eye, he catches Atsumu’s next movement. He registers the position of his body, the way he’s looking at the scene, the determined look on his face. 

He watches him move immediately while Kiyoomi stays transfixed on the concrete. 

Because, while sweeping from the other side of the road to Atsumu, he’s also seen the threatening red light and, more importantly, the car racing from afar. 

It lasts less than a second, but it feels like eternity. His mind freezes as he watches, powerless, Atsumu crossing the street without looking on his left. Without realizing what’s about to happen.

Kiyoomi sees it, because he’s seen it far too much already. He’s watched him die and die on an infernal loop, and he can’t do that again. 

Not now, not in this lifetime, not ever again. 

He forces his body to move, instilling all the strength he has into his legs and slams forward, pursuing Atsumu on the crosswalk.

“Atsumu!”

He feels the palm of his hand hitting the setter’s back, forcefully pushing him forward. He watches the shoulders of his teammate getting further and for a fraction of second, relief overcomes fear. 

Then, he feels immense pain hitting his left side, spreading through his body as his feet are lifted from the floor. He doesn’t have time to register what’s happening until he’s hitting the floor again, loudly enough for him to hear the distant _crack._ The arm laying under him has never felt more painful. 

Kiyoomi closes his eyes, buzzing his ears, not registering anything but the immense pain he’s currently in. He struggles to not pass out, the urge to vomit violently hitting him. 

Amidst the blurriness, a familiar voice. “Kiyoomi !! Kiyoomi! Kiyoomi, wake-up! Someone, anyone call an ambulance!”

Kiyoomi tries to open his eyes, but that only worsens his dizziness. Strangely enough, he’s never felt that _bad_ while being hurt. Damn, he’s never been hit by a car before, but he thought that getting sniped at several times was enough training for that kind of situation.

“Kiyoomi, Kiyoomi, stay with me.” He feels a touch against his cheek, hesitant but warm; and another on his lower back. “Kiyoomi, please, please, do ya hear me? It’s gonna be ok, they’re comin’ just hang on, please hang on.”

Kiyoomi wants to say he’s going to be fine in less than a few minutes. He shouldn’t bother trying to call an ambulance. All he can think about right now is how he’s going to explain to Atsumu that his body regenerates itself because he’s a fifty-hundred-year-old immortal. He hasn’t practiced that kind of talk since centuries.

He didn’t want to make Atsumu sad, not when there’s no reason to. But things will never be the same after that.

_No, no I can't let him see that. Please, I wanted to stay a little longer… I don’t have to go. Let me stay with him a little longer._

Weirdly enough, he doesn’t feel his wounds closing up. On the contrary, he feels the floor under him getting wetter, the scent of blood filling his nostrils, and he’s having a harder time to hold coherent thoughts any second passing by. 

Wait. _Wait_.

Kiyoomi gathers all strength to tentatively open an eye. He’s met with a painful sight. Atsumu is looking horrified, tears strolling down his cheeks and he keeps shaking his head, his body violently quivering. “I’m- I’m sorry omi-omi, please don’t leave me, please…”

So, that’s the view Atsumu had when he died the first time.

He wants to talk so badly. Soothe him, reassure him, whisper gentle words of comfort. But he isn’t so sure everything will be alright now. His vision blurs, he has to close his eyes again. Unable to move, feeling life leaving a body that decided, today of all days, to not to patch itself up.

_You will, one day, become mortal again._

Those words echo distantly into Kiyoomi’s mind. So, that’s it. This day has come. 

Fate has always been the worst. After all he’s been though, he has to die on the precise moment he decided to finally embrace it. Embrace him, stop running, stop fearing. He has to die and Atsumu has to witness it, helpless and shaking. 

He has more and more trouble fighting the unconsciousness that calls him, sweet and convincing. _You’ve done enough. You can let it go now._

And so, Kiyoomi surrenders and is pulled away in a dreamless, endless sleep. Atsumu’s sobs are the last thing he hears.

###

It hurts. It fucking hurts.

God, he shouldn't have tried to get back to consciousness. His whole body feels on fire, and his eyelids are so, so heavy. He can't move for an inch, his body just doesn't listen.

Kiyoomi tries to concentrate, but the buzzing sound that rings in his ears makes it difficult. He tries to remember what happened but his mind doesn't want to cooperate either.

He needs to do it, though. He needs to make sure Atsumu is doing okay, even if that's the last damn thing he'll get to accomplish on this Earth.

He tries to concentrate as much as he can, make the buzzing disappear and focus on what’s happening outside. It sounds quiet, but not silent either, like a rumbling noise on the background he can’t quite decipher. 

He gathers his strength to tentatively open one eye, barely making it through before the eyelid falls again. Well, if that part of his body isn’t cooperative, maybe some others will be. He tries to turn his neck a little, drum his fingers on the soft fabric he can feel underneath, move his feet that are lifted compared to how he’s currently laid down. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t realize if those attempts are success or failures. He can’t feel anything. 

“Oh, he’s back to consciousness once again I think.” So, the rumbling noise wasn’t a hallucination. At least, his ears are still functional. “‘Gonna tell the doctors.”

Footsteps, the sound of a sliding door, and then nothing. Kiyoomi concentrates once again, since nothing else seems to be working. He feels another presence in the room.

Then, a touch. A warm, soothing caress on the back of his hand, careful and easing. “Ya gonna be okay, omi-omi.” _Omi-omi_. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” 

His body relaxes, his thoughts come to a halt, his mind stops concentrating.

Atsumu is doing ok, and nothing else matters.

He surrenders to unconsciousness once again.

###

It happens several times and Kiyoomi never remembers it afterwards. He just knows that his hospital room is never empty. He can hear him, talking while he’s unconscious. The words don’t leave an imprint, they just stride through his mind and leave as quickly as they’ve come. 

The presence is reassuring. Strong accent and half-chewed words that make that journey into the unknown of his consciousness strangely familiar. It feels like someone’s besides him, holding his hand and whispering comforting words. 

When Kiyoomi opens his eyes for the first time, his chest instantly melts realizing it was never an illusion or a trick to begin with.

He opens his eyes, and the first thing he sees, blurry and unfocused, is a mop of blond-bleached hair and teary, worried eyes that are already looking at him.

The silhouette instantly leans forwards, making the chair he was sitting on fall loudly on the floor. “Omi-omi! Yer awake!” His face shows a strange mix of emotions. He’s beaming at him but his eyebrows are knitted.

_Worry doesn’t suit him at all._

Kiyoomi can only try his best to nod, as Atsumu puts one hand on his shoulder and another on his left arm. He opens his mouth to speak, but realizes something is preventing him from doing any coherent sounds. 

“Oh, yeah, they put that thing in yer mouth, said it’ll help ya breathe.” Atsumu explains, while his fingers trace soothing circles on his skin. 

Kiyoomi closes his eyes for an instant, gathers his concentration and reopens them seconds after. The scenery looks less blurry, even though the edges are still a little unclear. He takes a look at his surroundings, and more importantly what lies in front of him. 

As expected, his right leg and right arm are in cast, with his leg lifted on a hook. The other side seems fine, only bandaged from what peeks from outside the grey covers. Considering how his head feels like caught in a vice, he can only imagine the multiple bandages going under his hair. 

“Don’t worry omi-omi, it’s nothing serious!” Kiyoomi eyes him for the corner, straight-faced, and Atsumu can’t help but beam at him in return. He must have missed that stare, there’s no other rational explanation for this incandescent smile. “Well, ‘might take some time for everythin’ to pop back in place, but doctors say it’s nothin’ permanent like, permanent permanent.” He takes a breath, and his smile disappears, like he’s going to announce a disaster . “But, hm, don’t think ya’ll be back on tracks for this season.” 

Kiyoomi tries his best to shrug because right now he couldn’t care less about playing volleyball-, and a strike of pain hits him doing so. His body is lit on fire once again. He winces, strongly enough for Atsumu to notice. The setter immediately stands up. “‘Gonna call the doctors, be right back in a minute.” Before leaving in a hurry.

Five minutes later, Atsumu is back with the doctors. Eight minutes later, the meds are taking effect and Kiyoomi drifts back to sleep.

####

Bokuto visits him during one of the scarce visiting hours where Atsumu isn’t there.

“So, does it feel nice to be a human again?” He starts with a smile. 

Kiyoomi looks at his body, still mostly wrapped in casts and bandages. Then, he slowly lifts his gaze towards Bokuto. “What do you think?”

His teammate laughs, not bothered in the slightest. “Yeah, thought it’d pretty much suck. Man, I thought you were gonna realize it while, dunno, cutting yourself in the kitchen, or falling on the street, or whatever. Not by getting hit on purpose by a car.”

“It wasn’t on purpose.” He doesn’t bother answering the rest of what has been said.

“From what I heard, you pretty much jumped in front of it. Akaashi agrees to say it fits in the definition of “on purpose”.”

_Fuck what Akaashi says._

“I thought the car was going to stop.” It’s a lie. Bokuto’s curved right eyebrow is enough of an answer as it is, but he doesn’t actually say it out loud for once, and Kiyoomi is grateful for being spared a little. 

Certainly a gift for being so heavily hamstrung right now. 

“Well,” Bokuto says a few minutes later, as he’s heading towards the door. “At least it means you can stop running now. I know someone who’s gonna be happy about that.”

Bokuto does that very annoying knowing grin of his, but before Kiyoomi can tell him to mind his own business, the door of his chambers slides open, and a mop of blonde hair and wide maroon eyes pop out. 

“Oh Tsumtsum! So unexpected to see you there!” Bokuto laughs and Kiyoomi looks around to see if there isn’t something he could throw at him. “Well, gonna head back to the gym, bye!”

Bokuto leaves the room and Kiyoomi watches Atsumu casually sit onto his usual chair and start speaking. 

Apparently, peace was never an option.

###

“I’m sorry.” 

Kiyoomi looks at Atsumu’s slumped form, his hunched shoulders and the trends of hair falling in front of his lowered face. 

He knew this day would come sooner or later. Sooner more than later, considering Atsumu’s tendency to guilt-trip himself through the ages. 

Since he woke up for the first time, Atsumu would always appear too cheerful, too delighted, too entranced and excited about little things neither of them cared for in the first place. 

But sometimes, when Kiyoomi feigned sleep but pried one eye open, he would see the crestfallen look on Atsumu’s face. He would see the man chew on his lips until it bled and tightened the grip on his hair until strands got stuck between his fingers. He would watch a man get eaten alive by his guilt, probably playing the scene again and again in his mind and finding all the moments he could have made a difference, all the opportunities to avoid what happened.

Kiyoomi knew all too well what was happening in Atsumu’s mind. 

“I’m not.”

A beat.

“Ya should hate me.”

“I don’t.”

Another beat.

“I ruined yer life.”

“You didn’t.”

Atsumu lifts his head to look at him this time. He isn’t amused in the slightest by Kiyoomi’s back-to-back, emotionless answers.

“Are you using me as an excuse to skip training, by the way?” Kiyoomi resumes speaking, his gaze turning into a _stare._ Atsumu’s shoulders flinch. “Yeah, I thought so.”

“I-I tried, omi-omi.” He mumbles. “But I just cou’dn’t get it right, an’ ya weren’t there an’ I was worrie’ an’- aaahhh” He muffles his screams and takes his head between his hands, fingers slipping through his hair. “I know it sounds like I’m makin’ excuses.”

“It does.” Kiyoomi deadpans, before speaking again. “I’m fine. You’ve been hanging here every day to make sure of that.” It’s true; they removed the breathing assistant last week, and Kiyoomi can now sit, even though it requires some coordination and someone’s help. It’s often Atsumu. “If you keep skipping training, you will be benched for the season.” 

Given Atsumu’s knowing look, Kiyoomi isn’t the first one to tell him that. 

“... I shoulda been the one back there. Ya didn’t have to push me.”

“Don’t change subjects.” Kiyoomi warns, anger slowly rising in his chest. 

“Why didja do that?” Atsumu bluntly voices, throwing an arm in their air between them. “Ya saw that car! Ya knew what wou’d happen an’ ya still did it an’ now-” He chokes on the next word. “-now yer here an’- an’- “ He breathes through his nose. “That ain’t fair, omi.”

“So you would feel better if you were the one with a broken arm, a broken leg, three broken ribs and a concussion.” Kiyoomi spats, barely containing the venom through his words. 

Atsumu opens his mouth, shock clear on his face. Kiyoomi’s eyes dart quickly towards his knees, where he’s clenched his feet so tightly he can clearly see them whiten. 

“... Ya still didn’t answer my question. Why didja do that?” He speaks each word carefully, trying to contain whatever tornado of feelings is currently eating his insides.

“... Because I wanted to.” Kiyoomi answers after a time, much calmer. “Do you need a reason to accept that I saved you?” Atsumu’s eyes widen. “Sorry for you, I don’t have one. You’re going to have to live with that, which should be easy considering I’m not dead.”

“Yeah, but, yer volleyball career-”

“I can live without my volleyball career.” _Volleyball has always been a simple means to reach out to you. To be by your side._ He inhales. “I can’t live without you.” 

That’s the moment Atsumu breaks. The moment his eyes get all teary and his pitiful attempt at repressing the tears miserably fail as they just start running down his cheeks, the moment his nose grossly starts doing the same thing with his own fluids, the moment his body quivers. 

He leans down a little and take Kiyoomi’s hand between his, trying his best to hide his sobs.

“Omi-omi’s so cool-ugh” He tentatively wipes his teared-up eyes with one of his forearms. “‘stealin’ my lines ain’t fair, ya shou’d pay royalties fees for that…”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, but the comment manages to make his lips twitch upwards. He’s too fond of his dumb boy for his own good. “Guess I’ll have to treat you to dinner to make up for it, then.”

“Stop!!” Atsumu whines, tears still prickling down his cheeks but getting more scarce. “Ya don’t have the right to do that omi-kun! I-I was supposed to be real smooth an’ wait until your hospital release to come get ya with a nice bouquet an’ ask ya out! Ya ruined everything!”

“You can still do that, dumbass.” Kiyoomi deadpans, feeling his cheeks heat up in spite of himself. It’s been long since he last felt that, that nice feeling of alleviation settling inside his chest. “Restaurant can wait. We have time.”

Atsumu stops wiping his tears and removes the arm from his face, revealing his red puffy eyes and still wet-tainted cheeks. He gifts him the most beautiful, incescendent smile, the one that sets Sakusa’s body on fire. 

“Yeah, we got all the time in the world.” 

  
  


__________________________________________________

  
  


_“what is grief if not love persevering” - laura donney_

__________________________________________________

They kiss for the first time after the date that follows Kiyoomi’s hospital release. It’s a little awkward and shy, and they’re certainly not helped by the fact Kiyoomi still hasn’t gotten rid of his two casts, but it still feels amazing.

Kiyoomi cheers up for his team from the benches with Akaashi. The doctors told him that even though recovery was complete, he would never be able to play at a professional level again. Of course, he misses being on the same court as his _partner,_ but he’s happy just watching from the sidelines, this time.

At least now he gets to be an integral part of Atsumu’s life in every other aspect. 

They move in together around two years after their first kiss, even though they’ve already spent so much time at each other’s house everybody wondered why they still paid two rents three months after their first date. 

They get married several years later. Kiyoomi proposed to him over a casual take-out dinner on their couch and Atsumu cries, even though he’ll spend the next decades affirming that the soy sauce was just _too_ spicy for his own good.

To celebrate, they make love on the couch like horny teenagers, and then move to the bedroom to go at it again; slow and unhurried.

A quiet and intimate ceremony with the man he promised himself to centuries ago. Atsumu looks absolutely beaming in his three-piece grey suit and Kiyoomi has never felt luckier in his life.

This time, he’s the one standing next to him, and not behind. He’s the one exchanging vows and swearing to love this man until death does them apart.

_We did it, Atsumu._

They decide on common ground to keep their own last name. However, in private, Kiyoomi loves nothing more than to call his _husband_ with his last name, whenever he gets mad at him or wishes to tease him.

Atsumu mimics fast enough on this one. Should the neighbors listen to them, they would hear the frequent, mischievous “Miyaaaaa Kiyoomi” from the apartment next door. 

They spend a lot of time together, nestled in each other’s embrace, feet entangled and hands hovering over the other’s skin. 

They go out, they enjoy life, they enjoy each other.

They argue, because now they have time to do so. Their favorite part of their argument is the intense, mindblowing make-up sex that follows just after. To say that Atsumu provokes his _husband_ for that sole purpose wouldn’t be entirely false. 

They visit their old teammates, and their teammates come over. Kiyoomi could spend the rest of his life only by Atsumu’s side, but he knows Atsumu needs to see other people from time to time. Osamu is also an important part of their life.

_The rest of his life, huh._

One day, Kiyoomi looks at himself in a mirror and fings a strand of grey hair popping out of the raven curls. 

Several weeks later, he starts to notice the first wrinkles on his face. He asks Atsumu if those have always been there, to which Atsumu responds, “Yer just gettin’ old, omi-omi! Don’t worry, yer still a handsome fella.”, before turning his gaze towards the television.

Kiyoomi gently rubs the forehead wrinkle, glances at it again before leaving the bathroom and coming to sit next to Atsumu, pulling him on his lap and kissing the breath out of his lungs. 

Hinata’s immortality wears off when Kiyoomi hits fifty years old. Bokuto and Akaashi have left for Europe years ago and, from the postal cards they keep sending, seem to be in good health.

Kiyoomi thinks it may have been worth it, at the end. His memory has started to fade, slowly but surely. He still remembers bits from here and there, but everything feels foreign, blurry; almost as if those memories didn’t belong to him in the first place.

He doesn’t mind, though. 

In fact, he’s never felt more alleviated and light-weighted. 

###

Kiyoomi’s told Atsumu about his past immortality, years ago. Explained how he would always find his way back into Atsumu’s arms, or how Atsumu would always manage to appear in front of him at the most unexpected moments.

Atsumu laughs, beams, cries. Apologizes for having put Kiyoomi through so much. He also smiles softly, as if he was finally understanding a thing he’s been trying to explain his whole life.

Maybe the particular, powerful bond they have that he always felt.

Kiyoomi tells him about the belongings he’s kept with him all those years passing by. Gifts him the bracelet he bought for his anniversary, years ago. Atsumu’s katana ends up hung on the wall of their bedroom, and the clothes neatly folded under their bed.

When Kiyoomi dies, Atsumu is by his side. They’ve lived long enough to think it’s only fair of them to depart from this world.

Atsumu looks adoringly at Kiyoomi, brushes his lips against his wrinkled hand, soothes gentle words to appease him.

“Thanks for waitin’ for me, omi-omi. I can’t wait to fall in love with ya again.”

And for the first time, as his eyelids flutter, Kiyoomi looks forward to that.

_Always has, always will be._

**Author's Note:**

> well, thank you for finishing this fic !!!
> 
> i'll edit this note as soon as the art will be out, stay tuned !!
> 
> kudos and comments are greatly appreciated as ever <3
> 
> my twt is @Fate_Evance if you want !


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